


The Crown of Ocrisa

by magzawagzalot



Series: The Chronicles of Ocrisa [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prince!Merlin, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Eventual Magic Reveal, F/M, Freya has some PTSD-ish stuff, Gen, Magic Revealed, Merlin and Gaius teach her magic, Prince!Merlin, Trigger Warning - Abuse/Slavery, You Have Been Warned, but just merlin and arthur, good!Morgana, this sounds a lot darker than it actually is but im doing my best okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2020-09-26 20:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20395612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magzawagzalot/pseuds/magzawagzalot
Summary: Six years ago, the kingdom of Ocrisa was conquered, forcing king, queen, and crown prince to flee. Now, the crown prince is in Camelot, as he somehow managed to be appointed the manservant to Prince Arthur. Merlin's world is turned upside down when his mother - Queen Hunith of Ocrisa - comes to Camelot, asking King Uther for help in finding her husband, King Balinor.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Enjoy!

The boy awoke as he smelled something in the air. Charred. Decayed. Deadly. There was blood in the air, for blood had been spilled. There was a fair bit of noise from the incoming battle, however distant. No one had yet to burst into his chambers, so the boy figured he was relatively safe.

Glancing wearily around the room, he rose from the bed and put on a red tunic and boots. If they indeed had to flee, he wanted to be at least somewhat clothed. The boy could see fires burning outside of the castle as he dressed, dancing and flickering as they doomed houses and people alike to the same blazing demise. No one had the right to attack his kingdom and take from his people like that. It just wasn't right.

The boy jumped as he heard a soft knock at the door. The clashing of swords had gotten closer to his chambers, the sounds of the fight now mixing with the warning bells clanging over the bruning city.

Going to answer the door, the boy found Will. Will was his best friend and a fierce fighter, though he was still only a squire.

"Will?" The boy questioned, pulling the other inside as the fighting raged closer and closer.

"Merlin!" Will gasped, as the other had just accidentally thrown him to the floor. Merlin helped his friend to his feet, careful of the arm that had apparently been injured in the battle.

"We're under attack!" Will exclaimed as he caught his breath.

"I can hear that," Merlin muttered, peering into the hallway from the door.

"It's not that - it's Lord Castilian, sire. He's leading his own troops against the castle as we speak." Merlin cursed under his breath, reaching for the sword that had been sitting right by his bedside. A flash of golden eyes and the sword belt had would itself around his waist, for the prince possessed a powerful magic.

"We must leave, sire," Will urged. "The queen has ordered me to see you out of the citadel and into the forest."

"I can't just leave men here to die for me and my family!" Merlin exclaimed, struggling to keep his temper. "I can't leave my father and the knights and the people of this land!"

"Your father and I will go with you, Merlin." A new voice cut through the sounds of the battle. This one was sweet, nurturing. Merlin turned to see his mother, Queen Hunith, standing in the servants' entrance, holding a dagger in one hand. "Though we must go now; Lord Castilian's men are almost here."

Merlin looked from his mother back to Will, and then from Will to his mother again. Could he really give up on his kingdom, his people in a split-second decision?

Will tapped him on the shoulder, handing him a goblet. "For your nerves," He offered. "You look terrible, mate."

Merlin took the goblet and downed it, feeling his legs buckle under him as his eyes shut.

* * *

He awoke again in a small house. A woman was there as well, cooking something over the fire.

"Where am I?" He muttered trying to sit up.

The woman turned around, hearing the prince's struggle. As she neared, Merlin could see that she was not some stranger, but his mother. "Careful, Merlin, you're still weak."

"Where are we?" Merlin asked, still confused. "Where's Father?"

Hunith's eyes were filled with regret and sadness. "The citadel was lost, dear. As far as I know, he is alive, but Lord Castilian's forces are numerous, and they are roaming as far as the borders, looking for us and him."

"If we're not in Ocrisa, then where are we?"

"Ealdor. My home. It's far from Ocrisa, very far. Castilian would have to march troops through Camelot or Essetir to find us."

Merlin sighed, laying back on the small bed. "If Father is indeed alive, then-"

"No," Hunith vetoed. "You are still weak from the sleeping draught, and it is to dangerous to search for him now." She bent down and kissed her son on the forehead. "Rest now, dear. Tomorrow we must work."


	2. Chapter 1 - The Queen of Ocrisa

The woman yanked on the horse's reins, forcing the steed to stop. It whinnied, shaking its head. "Shhh," She whispered. "We'll stop for a rest soon."

"My lady!" Someone called. Looking back, she saw a knight in a royal blue cape. "My lady!" He called again.

She turned, regarding the knight with a kind stare. "Yes?"

The knight did not respond.

"Sir Terryn?" The woman questioned. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Nothing, my lady," Sir Terryn answered. "We are nearing Camelot, though, my lady, I thought you would want to know."

"Thank you, Sir Terryn," She smiled. "We need to stop to rest soon, the horses are getting tired."

"Of course, my Queen." Sir Terryn bowed, leaving the woman be.

Queen Hunith turned back to her horse, drawing her hood over her raven-colored hair.

* * *

"Merlin!"

Gaius's call woke the prince from his blissful slumber.

"_Merlin!"_

Sighing, Merlin rose from the bed, changing shirts and tying a blue scarf around his neck. He had grown in the six years since he had awoken with his mother in Ealdor, training with Will by moonlight and learning about herbs and medicine from his mother, a former healer, by day.

Hunith had sent him to Camelot less than a year ago, hoping that her son would learn to stay out of trouble in the city and further his training as a physician. Merlin, being himself, had gotten into much more trouble than his mother or Gaius would approve of.

The most obvious consequence of this trouble was that he now occupied the position of manservant to Prince Arthur, the son of the king. A king that would have him dead if he knew of the power that flowed through Merlin's veins; through his very being.

"Merlin! Arthur is bound to be awake by now!" Gaius was clearly running out of patience. "Get a move on before he comes in and yells at you again."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I'm coming!"

He could hear Gaius snort. "Clearly, you're not."

The dark-haired boy - nearly a man, now, Merlin liked to note - made his way through the castle and into Arthur's chambers, where he was pleasantly surprised to find that the blond haired prat-of-a-prince was not only awake, but dressed.

Sure, his tunic was backwards and his boots were on the wrong feet, but it was progress.

"Breakfast!" Merlin greeted, cheerily holding a platter with sausages and bread.

"You're late," Arthur replied, not looking up from his book. (Merlin made a mental note to make a joke about Arthur and the latter's ability to read). "Ooh, food."

Merlin handed the tray off to the prince - who hastily downed the first sausage - and made his way over to the almost-filled basket of Arthur's dirty clothes. Cleaning laundry was far from what he wanted to do that day - or any day, for that matter - but it was much more of an enjoyable task than polishing armor or mucking out the prince's prized horses.

"I heard Lady Ayleth was going to be visiting soon," Merlin muttered idly, trying to make conversation as he gathered Arthur's clothes. "She's quite beautiful, isn't she? But then again… you're not really interested in courting a _Lady_-"

"Shut up, Merlin."

"Shutting up, sire."

The Merlin continued to gather the prince's clothes, making an effort not to burst out laughing or insult the prince further, which would only end up with him being put in the stocks. Again.

A knock at the door sent both servant and prince out of their thoughts and into the world.

"Don't you worry, I'll answer it," Merlin muttered, setting down the muddy laundry.

"Enter!" Arthur barked, stopping Merlin as the latter was halfway to the door.

A servant girl opened the door. Her hair was dark and wispy, likely the effect of a long session of de-knotting her dark hair. "Prince Arthur?"

Arthur looked up from his breakfast.

"Your father requires your presence in the council chambers. He says it's urgent."

The blond prince set the platter down, checking his boots and walking out of the room. Merlin made to follow the prince but the serving girl stopped him.

"It's a private matter. The king wants to talk to Arthur alone."

"Of course," Merlin agreed. He could feel his cheeks growing red as he stood there in the doorway. "Would-would you like to come in? I'm just going to be doing Arthur's laundry."

The girl smiled, walking into the room after Merlin.

"Has Gaius told you how much of a shoddy assistant I was?" Merlin asked, gathering up the laundry for the third time.

The girl laughed. "You still are his assistant, Merlin. I'm his apprentice."

Merlin was clearly flustered, as he proceeded to drop the basket of muddy clothes, spreading them out over the floor for what felt like the thousandth time that morning. Without thinking, Merlin stretched out his magic, making the basket stop before it hit the floor. "_Blódseten_."

The girl jumped, surprised at the sudden use of magic.

Merlin realized what he had done. He released the basket and walked over to the girl, grabbing her hands. "Freya, I…"

"I'm not scared of you, Merlin," Freya replied. "I find magic fascinating, 'tis all. The way that you're able to use it so freely, in the prince's chambers, no less." She stood on her tip-toes and kissed him gently. "It's what makes you, you, Merlin. That alone makes me drawn to magic even more."

He smiled, pulling Freya in for another kiss.

"When I said 'get a room', I did _not_ mean my own."

Both jumped, Freya more shocked than Merlin to see Arthur standing in the doorway. He was visibly more distressed than before, looking unruly and ready to punch someone in the face.

"Sorry." Freya made her way to the door, lifting her hand in a meager wave as she left.

Arthur walked over to Merlin, sidestepping the not-yet-done laundry and slinging an arm around his servant. "I didn't know you had it in you, Merlin."

"What?"

"You never seemed like the kissing type to me. That's all."

Merlin rolled his eyes, attempting for the fourth time to clean Arthur's laundry off the floor.

Gaius and Freya were waiting for him when he returned, in the middle of brewing more sleeping drafts for the Lady Morgana. The two talked sparingly, Gaius showing Freya the steps to brewing the draft and Freya taking notes in a spare notebook that had once belonged to Merlin.

Merlin, as directed by Gaius under threat of no dessert, was sitting in a corner, studying from his magic book. The particular passage that he was readinga was about summoning spells. Fire, water, earth, plants, Merlin thought summoning the elements was the easiest thing in the world - of course, Freya reminded him, he was Emrys - and the most boring kind of magic to read about.

Something did catch his attention, eventually, but it was not the book he was supposed to be studying out of.

From what he could see of the courtyard below, the walls of the citadel surrounding it, there looked to be four, maybe five knights wearing not the red of Camelot and the Pendragon family, but the deep blue of Ocrisa and the Ambrosius family.

His colors.

As if on instinct, his left hand found its way to the ring sitting on a chain around his neck. His mother and father possessed identical rings, for they bore the family crest. Merlin slipped the ring around his finger for a second, feeling the familiar weight of the metal and the deep blue sapphires that adorned the ring. Someday, he wished to give that ring to Freya.

"Merlin?" Gaius questioned. "Might I ask why you've forsaken your reading and are now staring out the window like a half-witted troll?"

Merlin blushed, Gaius rolled his eyes, Freya stifled a laugh.

As Merlin tried once again to become immersed in the sheer boredom of reading, footsteps outside the door made him dash into his room - technically it was Freya's room now - to hide the valued text beneath the floorboards.

When he returned, he saw Sir Leon standing in the doorway. "The king has called and emergency council meeting," Leon announced. "He wants you there, Gaius."

"Of course," Gaius replied, beckoning for both apprentice and assistant to follow him as they left the physician's quarters.

Both followed the physician, and soon all three were in the council chambers. Merlin, trying his best to hide from the Ocrisan knights standing in the middle of the room; Gaius, near the king; and Freya, standing next to Guinevere.

"From what land do you hail?" Uther asked the knights.

"Ocrisa, sire," The knight that Merlin recognised as Sir Terryn responded.

"And why have you come to Camelot?"

"It was my decision, milord." A woman stepped forward, wearing a blue cloak that covered most of her face. She lowered the hood, letting the council see her in full. 

"And who are you, exactly?" Uther questioned.

Merlin knew exactly who it was. From the moment she spoke, he felt just a little bit closer to home, a little more hopeful for the future of his kingdom.

The woman smiled as she replied."I am Hunith, milord, Queen of Ocrisa."

* * *


	3. Chapter 2 - My Son

"Queen Hunith, you say?" Uther leaned forward in his seat. "As far as I recall, the sovereign of Ocrisa was a king."

"Indeed, my lord," Hunith agreed. "My husband formally held the title of sovereign, but we ruled together."

Uther nodded, sitting up. "Where is your husband, if I may ask, my lady?"

"To speak truthfully, sire, I do not know. We were separated while escaping the citadel and I haven't seen him in six years, though I pray to the gods that he is alive."

Merlin tried his best to make Hunith's view of him completely obstructed by a column. He was a relatively thin boy, to his luck, but Hunith always had some sort of sense for when her son was getting into trouble. Often, this meant that she would show up at the worst possible time.

In this case, however, it meant that Hunith spotted her son - hiding behind the pole, trying his best to shrink himself out of existence - just as Uther posed his question about the Ocrisan prince's whereabouts.

"I sent my son to Camelot over a year ago," Hunith told the council. "To learn healing and skills in medicine."

Merlin, now thoroughly sure that he had been spotted, began to walk backwards towards the servant's entrance. Now, more than ever, he was worried that his secret would finally come out.

It was not that he never wanted to tell Arthur, or Gwen, or Freya, or Morgana, it was just that this sort of thing, Merlin thought, should come from him, not from his mother or Gaius.

"Camelot, you say?"

Hunith nodded.

It felt, to Merlin, that this moment was frozen in time: stretched out forever, never ending and never beginning, never preventing the suffering that he was going to face.

He was almost to the exit when Hunith looked over at her son, eyes loving yet stern, and spoke.

"Merlin?"

* * *

Arthur should have figured it out by then. The Camelotian prince had always prided himself on quick thinking and intelligence (to Merlin's surprise), but, in all honesty, Arthur was ashamed of himself for not solving the puzzle sooner.

Merlin had been acting stranger ever since he'd stepped foot in the council chambers, eyes darting to windows and doors in something that Arthur could only describe as an overwhelming need to leave.

Hunith, the Ocrisan queen, had a strangely familiar look about her from the minute she had shown her face to the council. She had a motherly quality about her, something that was rarely seen in women of her status, but much more common, Arthur had observed, in women born of lower standing. She had come from a hard beginning, he concluded, and years of hiding have made her forsake the luxurious ways of palace life.

But it was that word, that one single word that tumbled from Merlin's mouth that made Arthur feel oh-so-dumb for not connecting the dots sooner.

"Merlin?" Hunith broke the silence brought on by Uther.

All heads, including Arthur's, turned to the manservant who was trying to leave through a servant's exit. Merlin's cheeks were growing red with blush. His eyes were trying to avoid those of the queen's, but his willingness to stare down a royal gave him away in the end.

Quietly, he spoke the word that sent Arthur into his current train of thought.

"Mother."

* * *

_That went well, _Merlin thought. All eyes were now directed at him, some were filled with surprise at his greeting to the queen, others in sheer confusion.

The hardest eyes to avoid, however, were the ones of his friends. Arthur's piercing blue growing wide with realization; Gwen's sweet brown and Morgana's eerie green narrowing in suspicion. But the worst of all were Freya's perfect brown. She had turned away from Merlin, the man she loved with all her heart. When she did turn and face him, they were blotched and spotted with tears.

Feeling awkward, Merlin walked over to his mother, embracing her in a short hug. He could see Uther out of the corner of his eye, ready to drill the servant boy into the ground with questions.

"My lady?" Uther questioned. Hunith turned back towards the king, still close to Merlin. "Is this boy your son?"

"'Tis he, my lord."

"Hang on a minute," Arthur interrupted. "How come you never told us about this, Merlin?"

Merlin looked at his mother before answering. She saw the sadness that lay inside of him, the part of him that loved his friends so much that keeping a secret for so long was killing him. "It's okay," She whispered. "You can do this."

Merlin looked back to Uther and Arthur, and began to speak.

"My mother and I were forced to flee the citadel during an attack when I was a boy. One of our most trusted advisors - Lord Marcus Castilian - had betrayed us, letting foreign soldiers into Ocrisa if they promised to make him the king.

"We were separated from my father that night, and I haven't seen him since. I awoke after the battle - as a squire had slipped a sleeping draft into my drink - and we were in Ealdor. My mother told me it was where she had grown up.

"I grew the rest of my years in Ealdor, until my mother deemed it fit for me to travel to Camelot and train as a physician under her uncle, Gaius."

Merlin looked up, surveying the faces around him. After seeing the council's intrigued faces, he continued. "I never expected to save Arthur's life or become his servant. But, my lord, you must understand that I have been in grave danger since the moment I left Ealdor. The only reason I have not come forward before is that I was not sure if Lord Castilian had spies within the castle." He nodded towards Uther, signaling that he had finished his tale.

Arthur looked solemn, indicating that he had understood Merlin and Merlin's reasons for not confessing. But, as Merlin knew, understanding did not mean forgiveness.

It was not until Uther spoke again that Merlin realized the full consequences of his actions. He had not yet been sure that Castilian had not sent spies into the councils and courts of neighboring kingdoms, including Camelot. If there was indeed a spy inside the palace walls, Merlin and his mother were now in grave danger.

"Very well," Uther broke Merlin's train of thought. "The council will have to come to a decision about sending men to help you find your husband, my lady. But until then, you and your knights are welcome guests here in Camelot."

And with that, the king dismissed the council.

* * *

Merlin followed Arthur out of the council chambers, knowing that the Camelotian prince was going to blow up in his face.

"Arthur?" He questioned, after following the prince into a much more secluded corner of the castle.

"Why did you not tell me?" Arthur's voice sounded like so many different things. Disappointed. Confused. Enraged. It seemed as if Arthur was thinking he did not even know Merlin anymore.

"I…" The Ocrisan prince started. Merlin was at a loss for words. "I should have."

Arthur nodded his head, agreeing.

"Arthur, I'm sorry, I should have just-"

"We could have helped you!" Arthur cried. "I don't understand why you're keeping secrets, Merlin. We're friends, aren't we?"

Truthfully, Merlin had no idea how to answer that. Was he supposed to agree that, yes, Arthur was his friend? He did feel more comfortable around Arthur over the time they'd spent together, but Merlin wasn't sure if that qualified as friendship. Friends went out to the tavern together and drank. The last time he and Arthur had spent anything close to time together was at time when they'd gotten captured while hunting.

"I'm sorry, okay!" Merlin finally exclaimed. "I was planning on telling you eventually, though. I had to be sure that there weren't any spies in the court, and-"

"I know, Merlin. I understand. Being royalty, wherever you go, it seems like there's a price on your head." Arthur bade the other prince goodbye, leaving Merlin alone in the deserted hallway.

* * *

Far from the crowded streets and high-flying banners of Camelot, a king sat on his throne.

It was his throne, of course, just not his crown. Staging a coup was nasty business, and, if all had gone according to plan that night, he would be the only one in the court that could assume power, either by force or bribery.

Alas, all, it seemed, had not gone to plan.

A man swept into the room, his head covered by a black hood. To any normal person, he would look like someone else, another person on the street that would be forgotten about the moment they looked away.

And that, the king noted, was the brilliance of magic.

The man lifted the hood from his face, eyes glowing gold with magic as the enchantment was lifted. Where there was once a grey-bearded man with a receding hairline now stood a boy of nearly twenty years.

"Well?" The king inquired.

"The queen is indeed alive, milord. She has gone to Camelot, hoping to seek aid from King Uther."

The king laughed. It was a dry, throaty laugh, usually filling those around him with terror. "Does she think Uther will be able to help her?"

"I do not yet know, my lord, but I will stay vigilant."

The king nodded. "And what of the king?"

"Nothing, sire." The boy shook his head. "Neither the queen nor the prince have seen King Balinor since you gained control of the citadel."

"The prince?"

"Yes, sire. The prince has been in Camelot for a year at most, though he lives and works within the palace."

The king pondered this for a moment before returning his gaze to the boy. "Thank you." He dismissed the boy.

The boy bowed, his cloak fluttering as he took his leave.

"William?" The boy turned back to the king. "I do not like to be betrayed, William. It will do you good to remember that."

"Of course, my lord." William bowed again, leaving the king to his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know these chapters are short by AO3 standards, but bare with me guys. We're going down his rabbit hole together. 
> 
> (Y'all have my respect if you figure out what's going on before the readers on FF do). 
> 
> -Mags


	4. Chapter 3 - Sir William, Knight of Ocrisa

Merlin had never thought it hard to talk to Freya. She was kind and quiet, always ready to listen. She was also the only person, besides Gaius and Lancelot, that knew about his magic.

Ever since he told the council of his true identity, however, he'd found it increasingly harder to muster up the courage to talk to her. And three days after the council meeting, Merlin wanted nothing more than just to talk to Freya.

Instead, he had spent the past three days with his mother and the Ocrisan knights, training and looking for clues as to where his father might be. And, as it turned out, Balinor Ambrosius was an incredibly hard man to find. Not one city within four days travel of the Ocrisan capital - the city of Avondraca - had seen or heard of a man matching King Balinor's description.

That afternoon, rather than being challenged to a swordfight by Arthur (again), Merlin decided to ask his mother about Freya. If anything, he thought, he could tell his mother of his intentions to give Freya his ring - a sign of eternal promise and love.

"Mother?" He asked, walking through the doors of her guest chambers.

Hunith looked up from the table, where maps of the Five Kingdoms were splayed out. Little x's marked both Camelot's outposts and Ocrisan resistance strongholds. She seemed to be deep in thought, which made Merlin regret coming to her with his problem.

"Could I talk to you for a minute?"

The queen's eyes lit up as she looked towards her son. Clearly, whatever Merlin had to say was more interesting than Camelot's supply routes.

"Of course, dear," She smiled, looking up to see Merlin's worried expression. "What's troubling you, Merlin?"

"I need to talk," Merlin replied. "It's important."

They sat on the bed, Merlin explaining to Hunith how he had met Freya. He told of her curse, of how he'd freed her from the cage and stole Arthur's breakfast to bring her food. Merlin told his mother about Uther's search for the girl, and how Arthur had struck her while she and Merlin were trying to escape the city. Lastly, he told of the healing powers that the Triple Goddess had bestowed upon him in that moment when the two were lying beside a lake, saying _Save your love, Emrys. The Lady of Lakes will do many great things, for her destiny lies with you, in the mortal world, and not in Avalon._

"And Gaius agreed to take her on as an apprentice after she was healed," Merlin started to finish his tale. "Since then, we've been working in the castle together." He looked up at his mother, brilliant blue eyes seeming to twinkle as he talked about the girl that had stolen his heart. "And… and," Merlin pulled out the chain bearing his ring. "And I think I want to marry her, Mother. I really do."

It felt good for Merlin to finally tell someone. The weight the realization had put on him was starting to lift; the guilt living inside of his chest had started to vanish. For so long, the realization that he truly loved Freya had been a private burden to bear, something that he hadn't felt ready to disclose.

Hunith's eyes lit up as her son talked. She placed her hand over his upon seeing the ring. "Oh, Merlin. This is wonderful! She must be truly special if you feel for her in such a way."

"She is," Merlin agreed, fiddling with the chain in his hand. "She is loyal, funny, and by far one of the most accepting people I've ever known." A second later he added, "She knows about my magic as well."

Seeing his mother's distressed look, he explained further. "Freya is trustworthy. I showed her after I first rescued her. She comes from a druid family as well. I fully trust her."

"Well, if that's the case," Hunith replied, smiling brightly at her only son. "I would be very proud to call her my daughter."

Merlin stood up, embracing his mother. "Thank you."

* * *

Hours later, Merlin found himself at the top of one of the castle's towers, enjoying the peacefulness as he watched the moon and the stars.

He'd always enjoyed the night. As a child, he had heard his mother refer to a time of night as "the witching hour", for that's when the High Priestesses' spells were most powerful. Sometimes, he could feel the ferocity of the witching hour's strength through his magic, the Priestesses' spells being amplified by the moon and stars to a point where he would have to close his curtains and take a sleeping draft in order to be free of the crude magic's grasp.

Not all magic was that harsh, Merlin noted. His magic, as Emrys, always left people with an air of hope. Whenever he performed magic for the druids or for his people as a child, the people would look at him in awe when he had finished, contemplating just how such a kind and nurturing being - a child, no less - could possess the most powerful magical gift ever bestowed by the gods.

Something inside the tower creaked. Merlin turned around, magic rushing through his fingertips, waiting to be unleashed.

"Calm down, Sire, I'm not going to hurt you!" Will stepped out of the shadows, a black cloak draped over his shoulders. Merlin could see padding and chainmail beneath the cloak, along with a hilt-shaped bulge on his left hip.

"Will," Merlin greeted, pulling his best friend into a hug. "Since when have I been 'Sire' to you?"

"Since I was knighted," Will explained. "I finished my training after you left for Camelot, and the Queen knighted me. I've been serving with the knights ever since."

"That's wonderful!" Merlin exclaimed. "You don't have to call me 'Sire', though," He added hastily. "I'm your friend first, your prince second." _You'll know when you are speaking to your prince and not your friend, _Merlin added silently.

Will nodded in understanding. "What have you been doing in Camelot?"

"It's a funny story, actually…" Merlin recounted the tale of his and Arthur's first encounter, and their second, and of how he saved Arthur's life from Mary Collins - disguised as the Lady Helen - and how he'd been appointed Arthur's manservant by Uther, much to both his and Arthur's dismay.

Will chucked as Merlin finished. "That seems like your kind of luck, Merlin."

Merlin agreed.

For a minute the two boys stood there in the night. Merlin could feel the earth's and the night's magics around him. Everything was so full of life, so powerful and entrancing. But there was something off with that night. Something that worried Merlin greatly. The magic inside of Camelot - meager though it may be - was not balanced as it should have been. Someone was using powerful spells - extremely powerful spells, Merlin noted, as his head began to throb - within the walls of the castle. It was not Lady Morgana, as she only knew a handful of spells that Gaius though it safe to teach her; nor was it himself, for Merlin knew the toll that powerful spells took on the earth, and he feared that he was not yet powerful to attempt one.

The only variable left was the Ocrisan knights, though, from what Merlin sensed upon their arrival, not all of them had magic, and the few that did had very limited talents.

Merlin thought himself paranoid as he settled on the final explanation for the disturbance. Lord Castilian's spy. Who else would use such powerful spells - eavesdropping, thought-sharing over extreme distances - without working for the man who betrayed Merlin's family.

"Merlin?" Will looked at his friend anxiously. "Merlin, are you alright?"

"Fine," Merlin answered quickly. As Will looked away, he saw that his friend had changed much since the two were last together. Will's face was much thinner, any fat under his chin now gone from weeks of training and being on the run. He was also much more somber, Merlin decided, as he saw his friend look up to the moon.

"Sire!" Another voice was heard as both Will and Merlin stood in silence. Turning, Merlin saw Sir Cassius, an older and more experienced knight - one of Balinor's greatest friends.

"What is it?" Merlin asked, confused and worried at the same time.

"It's the queen sire," Cassius answered. "She thinks she has a way of locating the king."

Merlin looked to his friend, and then back to Sir Cassius. "Is she in her chambers?"

"Yes, sire."

As Merlin turned to leave, Will reached out his arm. "Take Gaius with you. If anything, the queen's method involves magic, and we can't risk Uther finding out your secret or going after you. The same goes for everyone else in Camelot."

Merlin nodded. "Thank you, Will."

* * *

Gaius was not surprised when Merlin came to find him. The physician had spoken to Hunith after she had arrived in Camelot, and it was clear to the old man that she wanted nothing more than to be reunited with her husband. _Even_, Gaius thought, _if it involved using magic._

Excusing himself and following Merlin through the castle, Gaius eventually found himself outside the door to Hunith's guest chambers, where he noticed something that smelled suspiciously like rosemary. Rosemary, among other things, was used to improve one's memory, though Gaius had no idea why Queen Hunith would have need of such a plant. She had always been a very clever girl.

Merlin knocked on the door, and the two entered after hearing the queen's call.

"My lady?" Gaius questioned, upon seeing the array of herbs laid out across a table. "If I may ask, what is all of this for?"

"My father," Merlin spoke up. "No one has seen him in six years, and we need to know if he is alive." He shifted his weight idly between his feet. Whatever was about to happen, Merlin was worrying about the outcome.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Hunith looked at her son with worried eyes. "One of the knights could do it if you feel you can't."

"I am Emrys, Mother, I can handle a simple spell like this." And with that, Merlin's eyes flashed the brilliant gold of magic, the rosemary on the table igniting into flames and releasing heavily perfumed smoke. Concentrating on the smoke, Merlin whispered a spell. "_Mín_ _bewlátunga mec ieldran."_

For a moment, he stood there, as if the smoke was telling him something. The next moment, Merlin was lying on the floor, the magical strain too much on his body.

Gaius bent down over Merlin's body, checking for a pulse. "He's breathing," Gaius confirmed, after feeling Merlin's slow heartbeat. "It may take a little time for him to recover, but-"

The physician was stopped as Merlin opened his eyes, gasping for air and trying to sit up.

"Merlin!" Hunith exclaimed, rushing over to her son.

"I saw him." Merlin turned his head towards his mother. "Father. He's alive. I saw him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this another short one? Yes. Am I dissapointed with the lack of Freya content in this fandom? Yes. Here's Merlin being head over heels for the only girl he CANONICALLY was in love with, mostly because that episode came after my soul and killed it. 
> 
> (I hope you all are literature nerds, because the chapter names are gonna get really Shakespeare-referency soon)
> 
> -Mags


	5. Chapter 4 - A Father's Pride

Uther was at his desk when Gaius came to see him.

"Whatever is the matter, Gaius?" Uther asked, upon seeing the physician's concerned expression.

"I have something to confess, my lord."

The words sent a chill down Uther's spine. Confessions meant secrets. Secrets meant magic. Magic, as per the laws of Camelot, meant death.

"Well, Gaius?"

"I have broken my oath, sire."

Fury almost burned through the king's composure. Gaius had sworn an oath to his king at the start of the Great Purge, vowing to never use magic as long as he was in the king's service. Uther had hoped that Gaius had reformed since his time of practicing the unholy arts, though it was now clear that Uther had been wrong.

"And you confess to these deeds, knowing full well the consequences?"

Gaius opened his mouth to speak, but not before the doors to Uther's chambers swung open, and Queen Hunith strode inside, raven hair trailing behind her.

Sighing, Uther greeted her. "Is there something I can help you with, my lady?"

"I have come to negotiate on behalf of my uncle," Hunith answered, her posture straight and her tone clear.

"Negotiate? With all due respect, my lady, Gaius has just confessed to breaking one of Camelot's most sacred laws."

"And he did it on my orders."

Uther looked from Gaius to Hunith, and then back to Gaius.

"Is this true, Gaius?"

Gaius nodded. "Yes, sire. As an Ocrisan by birth, I had no choice but to obey my queen."

"And yet you still confess to crimes punishable under the laws of Camelot?" Uther was confused. Why would Gaius come to him if the former had no choice about breaking the law. Something didn't make sense.

"Gaius, you're dismissed."

The physician looked to his niece before bowing and leaving. The two monarchs were now alone.

Uther gestured towards one of the chairs opposite his desk. "Would you like to sit down, my lady, I believe we have much to discuss."

* * *

_A man was standing in a clearing, thick trees could be seen around the outside. Drawing his sword, he chanted a spell and sank the weapon into the earth. All around him the plain shook, magic retreating and being forced away by a much more archaic force._

_Something seemed to cast a shadow over the man, the world darkening around him as something approached._

_The man did not seem worried, however, his eyes steely with determination as he drove his sword further into the dirt…_

It had been but three days since Merlin saw his father in the smoke. The vision brought on by the spell had done little to ease Merlin's worries for the king; instead they threw him into another task entirely. If Balinor was indeed alive, the how could Merlin get to him before Castilian did?

In truth, there seemed to be only one option. Leave.

Merlin was hesitant about this. The task seemed daunting. Camelot had become a home to him. It represented safety and honor, neither of which would be known while journeying the Kingdoms to search for his father. Camelot was also the one place where he knew he could count on the knights, be they his or Arthur's.

He had not yet come to a decision when Arthur approached him on the third morning, wondering where and how they could find Merlin's father, if he was even alive.

"I've told you before, I don't know." Merlin sighed, reaching through Gaius's shelves of herbs. (He'd been helping Gaius more and more since his mother's arrival; Uther didn't see it fit for a prince to serve another prince). "If I did, in fact, know where my father was - which I _don't _\- wouldn't I be out there right now, looking for him?"

"There's more that you can do than just wait for a sign," Arthur argued, crossing his arms over his chest. "There are revolutionaries inside of Ocrisa already, aren't there? You could send a message or somethi-"

"I've told you what I'm going to do," Merlin cut the other prince off. "Can't you just respect that?"

"Merlin has a point." Another voice cut through the conversation.

Turning, Merlin saw Morgana standing in the doorway. Gwen, of course, was close behind.

"Is there something I can help you with, Morgana?" Merlin asked, mentally wishing to be somewhere else.

"I've come to return your… _book_." Morgana gestured to the old textbook in her arms that was not a textbook at all. "I know that Gaius would probably want to discuss it with me before I returned it, but, alas, he is preoccupied. I was also wondering, Merlin, if you had any others."

Merlin nodded, walking up to what was now Freya's room to retrieve one of the many books - magical or otherwise illegal - that were stored beneath the floorboards. There were many old texts stored there - scrolls, cursed volumes, books in languages Merlin had never heard of. Gaius had once said that Geoffrey of Monmouth - Camelot's bookkeeper - had been an expert in magical writings before the time of the Great Purge.

Searching through the collection of instructional books Gaius had collected, Merlin finally found the one he though would interest Morgana the most: a large and rather dusty copy of _Gedihta Syl Gamele Ond Forgeaf Drýcræfte _or _Writings of Old and Forgotten Magics_.

"That looks old," Morgana observed from behind him. Merlin jumped.

"Why did you follow me?" He asked, afraid.

Morgana shrugged. "The lovebirds wanted some time alone." She pointed to the doorway, where Arthur and Guinevere could be seen kissing.

Grimacing, Merlin handed Morgana the book. "Does this look okay?"

Morgana smiled. "Interesting." She concluded.

Merlin nodded, watching Morgana go. Soon Arthur had left as well, most likely chasing after Gwen.

At last, the Prince of Ocrisa was alone with his magic.

Alone, he could be who he felt he truly was. He could be free, do amazing things, without fear of punishment or alienating those close to him. It was with magic when he felt most truly alone, though it was also with magic when he felt truly alive.

"Merlin?" It was a quite voice, this time, that called his name. Freya was standing in the doorway. She looked almost angelic in the mid-morning light, dark hair and pale skin being accented by the light seeping in through the windows.

Regaining his focus, Merlin saw she was holding both a hunting knife and a basket (which most likely had been filled with herbs merely moments ago).

"Merlin?" Freya asked again, her voice almost like a song. "Is there something you needed?"

Merlin shook his head. "I -" He began, hesitating. "I wanted to talk."

Freya's cheeks went slightly pink as she set her wares down, eventually making her way over to where Merlin was sitting on the floor and joining him. "Well?" She laughed when seeing Merlin's flustered face. "Talk!"

"Freya…" He started, before taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

Freya nodded, signaling for him to continue.

"I should have told you before - I should have told _everyone _before - and I really wanted to. I did. Hiding something like that was and is selfish and I never should have done it." Merlin could feel tears forming in his eyes.

"I understand that you are in danger while you are here." Freya took her love's hand and squeezed it. "I ran from so many things when I was cursed. Places, people, even the druids could not deal with me for a time. I came to towns that did not know of me and stayed for a time, but the weight of not telling the people that I was the one raviging their crops and killing their dogs did something to my conscious. Eventually I came clean, and I was chased out of town. Secrets are dangerous things, Merlin, keeping them keep you safe for a time, but they will always endanger you more in the end."

Merlin nodded, squeezing Freya's hand. "And you're not mad?"

"Mad? No. Disappointed? Yes." Freya looked at Merlin. "You are so much more than someone who hides in the shadows, amassing secrets. You are _Emrys_, Merlin, you are meant for greater things."

Merlin met her with a kiss, enjoying the feeling of them together. "I would not be who I am without you," He whispered as they broke apart. "You, Freya, inspire me to go out and face each new day."

The blush on Freya's cheeks grew deeper in color. Merlin could feel his own cheeks growing hot.

"And what of your kingdom, do your people not inspire you?"

"Everything I have been doing for the past six years has been in the hope that I will once again see the towering palace in Avondraca. Is that not inspiration?"

"It is a drive, a goal." Freya waved her hand in a dismissive manner. "A goal is what motivates you, inspiration is what shapes your actions revolving around that goal; it is how you accomplish it."

Merlin pressed a kiss to Freya's forehead. "You are wise far beyond your years."

Freya laughed. "A side-effect of working with Gaius." Merlin couldn't help but agree.

The two stayed like that for some time, holding hands and talking of fate and family. It was nearly noon when Freya said, "Your mother is a strong woman, Merlin?"

"And why is that?" Merlin was playing with the chain around his neck. Freya caught his head and guided it so that he was facing her.

"She has sacrificed so much. Her kingdom, her finery, all to journey and meet you in Camelot in the hopes of finding her husband. And her will has remained strong and unwavering throughout, never bending to a scheming lord's agenda. She is proud of you as well. You have remained eager in your quest for your father, even now that there is little hope of finding him."

"And my father?" Merlin wondered, a bit too out-loud for his liking.

Freya pressed a faint kiss to his forehead. "Your father would be the proudest of all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure Uther is just as confused about this strange encounter as I am. What will happen? Nobody knows (Least of all me) 
> 
> We're not getting Shakespeare titles yet, but they are coming, so stay tuned! 
> 
> -Mags


	6. Chapter 5 - Warnings

t was not often that thinking kept Merlin awake. Between Arthur's constant need to have everything done for him and Gaius's demanding schedule of "I need these herbs by tomorrow, Merlin," there wasn't normally much time for rest, and what little time there Merlin had for rest he treasured.

Now, nobody wanted him to do anything. There was too much _time_. Too many hours in a day spent wallowing over the tragedies of his past; too few minutes left of activity to occupy him. Throughout the day, he could be seen in varying locations around the citadel. The only constant in his life was that his father was indeed out there, and Merlin had no idea how to get to him.

But then, as all things in Merlin's life tended to do, things started to go downhill.

A page had been sent to Hunith's chambers - where the queen and her son were debating the best strategy for claiming the citadel in Avondraca - announcing that the council had come to a decision regarding the queen's plea for help.

A wave of nausea came over Merlin as he entered the council chambers with his mother and their knights, settling uncomfortably in his stomach and making him feel as if something was going to burst at any second.

"Queen Hunith," Uther greeted. "We have heard your request for help, and we believe that, though your situation is dire, we simply cannot risk a declaration of war against Camelot by providing troops for your to regain your own kingdom."

Merlin looked at his mother out of the corner of his eye. Her gaze did not waver, even after Uther spoke.

"So you are denying us any and all help?" Hunith asked.

Uther looked confused. "You mistake me, my lady. We cannot provide troops, though there is something else that we believe can aid you. It has been suggested that, instead, we send a handful of knights to both aid and protect both you and your son while you travel back to your homeland. This comes with a price, though, as you would have to be willing to let Prince Arthur travel with you to Ocrisa."

Merlin felt sick. Since Uther had began speaking, he had developed a pounding headache, which was only spurred on by the uneasiness in his stomach and the anxiety of knowing that Arthur would eventually find out his secret on the trip. (With Merlin's luck, how could it _not_ happen?)

Hunith blinked, though no emotion phased her. "Is there anything else that we must know of, my lord?"

Uther nodded, but it was Arthur who responded. "I can understand if you are apprehensive about accepting our modified deal, though you must understand that-"

Merlin's headache was becoming unbearable. Arthur's speech began to blur until a wall of sound was the only thing reaching his ears. The light beaming in through the council chambers' many windows blurred and swirled before his eyes.

Merlin could feel another presence in the room; something magical. It was almost as if this _thing_ was obstructing the natural order of the world around him. Everything seemed wrong and right at the same time.

His senses began to muddle together, moving about and becoming insufferable until Merlin's legs gave way.

He felt himself fall to the floor.

Then, all of a sudden, the darkness closed in.

* * *

_Emrys!_

_Beware, Emrys!_

Voices were crying out to him through the darkness.

_Heed our warnings, Emrys!_

_You must guard your secret and guard it well, Emrys. Your trial lies ahead._

_No one must know of your power, Emrys. They are afraid of that which they cannot control._

The voices were female, unfamiliar.

_Nothing, not even love, must come between your duty to your nation._

Merlin felt as if he was clawing at the nothingness for air. The only thing he received were vague warnings and half-truths.

_Trust no one, Emrys. There is a traitor among your kind, one who has strayed too far from his destiny to be retrieved._

_Beware the witch, Emrys! She is easily swayed._

_Beware the prince, Emrys! He is naive and untested._

_But…_

_Most importantly…_

_The Lady…_

_Your love…_

_Her secrets are the deadliest of them all, Emrys, you must gain her complete trust if you are to save your homeland._

* * *

Bells chimed twelve times throughout the great city of Camelot, signaling the start of a new day and a changing of the guards. Lanterns shown through the lightlessness of midnight, guiding the way for incoming guards and those who wished to remain unseen in their business.

It was the time when the magics of the earth and sky were at their peaks, when it was easiest to bend them to your will, even for the most complicated of spells.

"_Ābrǣcon_," A door broke off its hinges, allowing a man in a deep blue cape passage through a corridor beneath the great citadel of Camelot. Turning a corner, the man discarded his cape in favor of a grey cloak, stowing the cape, along with a pair of gauntlets and a dagger, on an alcove.

The man then turned his attention to his ring, which was now glowing with the magic of the witching hour. He whispered a spell, focusing all of his attention on it. "_Wídsijes mec __oþ breogostól Ocri_."

Within the blink of an eye, the man had traveled hundreds upon thousands of leagues.

He shivered, breath materializing in the air.

One of the guards coughed, motioning for him to come closer. He approached, envious of the guard's extra layers of clothing. "You're late," the guard huffed.

The man rolled his eyes. "Is he ready for me or not?"

"If you believe you're ready for him."

The man nodded, and the door was opened. Inside, another man waited, this one much older. Lines of age were beginning to press against his face, while the pale skin and light hair gained from spending his life in the north gave him the appearance of an opaque ghost. The furs that he was sporting made it obvious that he was someone of importance.

"Ah, William," he greeted, motioning for the approaching man to take a seat at the large table that occupied the room.

"My lord," William replied, choosing to remain standing. "I bring news from Camelot."

"Well?"

"They remain ignorant to the fact that there is a spy in their midst. Their confidence is in the virtues of chivalry and brotherhood, which they think will deter anyone from betraying them."

"Have you learned of Queen Hunith's plans?" The king sounded impatient.

"Indeed, milord, I have. She plans to take the citadel with the aid of Camelotian knights and Prince Arthur." William kept one hand on the pommel of his sword.

King Marcus was silent. After a moment of consideration, he responded. "Have they located King Balinor?"

"I am afraid so, my lord. The prince managed to see him in a vision, though they do not yet know where he is."

"Which prince? Prince Arthur?"

William shook his head. "Prince Merlin. He has grown much more powerful since his youth."

The king nodded. "It seems so. We shall need something to counter his power."

"We may have no need, my lord."

"What do you mean, William?"

"The spells I use to travel between Camelot and Avondraca take a toll on the magic of the earth - even at the witching hour my spells can cause a disturbance. Prince Merlin, being as powerful as he is, has fallen prey to a sort of… sensitivity to the magical balance around him. Just today he fainted during a council meeting."

"Good work, William." The king dismissed his spy, and William began to take his leave.

"Remember, William," the same warning was given after every meeting they had. "I do not like to be betrayed."

* * *

_A man was standing in a clearing, thick trees could be seen around the outside. Drawing his sword, he chanted a spell and sank the weapon into the earth. All around him the plain shook, magic retreating and being forced away by a much more archaic force._

_Something seemed to cast a shadow over the man, the world darkening around him as something approached._

_The man did not seem worried, however, his eyes steely with determination as he drove his sword further into the dirt…_

Morgana awoke with a start. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon.

_What is happening to me? _She wondered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo.... yeah. This was around the point where I realized I should really be doing more with Morgana, since she's not evil and whatever. 
> 
> Leave any questions in the comments and I'll do my best to answer them! 
> 
> (the translator that I'm using for the spells is https://www.oldenglishtranslator.co.uk/ if you're wondering) 
> 
> -Mags


	7. Chapter 6 - Alea Iacta Est

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I just wanted to warn everyone that this chapter does use language that implies abuse in a character's past and very minor swearing. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It was not like Arthur meant to fall for Guinevere. He didn't think that Guinevere had meant to fall for him either. Even so, knowing that he was leaving someone behind for him that would mourn, truly mourn if he died made leaving Camelot even the tiniest bit harder. He knew nothing of Ocrisa or what they would face, which only increased the possibility that he would likely perish during this quest.

As he was preparing for his journey to this unknown land, Arthur found himself wondering more and more about Merlin's kingdom. In truth, the land of Ocrisa was a complete mystery. The records of Camelot held little history on the land, nothing more than a sidenote when a new king was crowned or a dynasty was ended. Merlin was no help on the matter either, the only warnings about the land he gave were to pack for the cold.

And so, not three days after Merlin had fainted, Arthur found himself dressing and preparing to depart for this strange country. As he mounted his horse, he heard other knights conferring on the topic of Ocrisa.

"I heard they allow magic," one of them, Sir Bedivere, told another.

"Come off it," his companion, Sir Owain, responded. "No one allows magic anymore. The king would probably declare war against them if they did."

"He's getting too old for war, I reckon," Sir Moriaen interjected. "That's why he hasn't moved yet."

"Back to work, you lot!" Arthur bellowed. Bedivere and Moriaen almost jumped when they realized Arthur had heard them. They mounted their horses as the blue-caped knights of Ocrisa approached with their own.

At the front of the sea of blue were Merlin and his mother, both sporting the capes of their house. Merlin, for once, was wearing armor, and it was clear to Arthur now that Merlin was exactly who he claimed to be - a prince.

"Ready?" Merlin asked, mounting his own horse.

"I think so," Arthur replied. He pulled on his horse's reins and set off at a canter, speeding up as Merlin, Hunith and the knights followed.

Soon, they had reached the plain beyond Camelot's walls, and Arthur knew that a new adventure had begun.

* * *

"Must they leave us behind?" Freya wondered aloud. "They're going to get themselves killed and all we can do is watch helplessly from the windows!" She leaned as far as she could out of the window, watching Merlin leave.

Morgana sighed. "You're quite the optimist, Freya."

"I could say the same of you, my lady."

Morgana smiled in return. In a split second, her eyes flashed a brilliant gold. Freya gasped softly as a goblet fell to the floor.

"Damn," Morgana cursed. "I'm sorry, Freya. It just keeps happening-"

"It's fine, my lady, truly. I've lived with the druids long enough to get used to it." Freya picked the goblet off the floor, using magic to clean the place where the wine had stained the floor.

A knock came at the door.

"Come in!" Morgana called.

Gwen entered Morgana's chambers, holding a basket in front of her. "Good morning, my lady, Freya."

The other women responded in kind.

Gwen began to unpack the wares of the basket, which turned out to be a handful of Morgana's dresses and undergarments. She whistled while she hung up the dresses and folded the shifts, unaware of the heated conversation going on nearby.

_We should tell her, _Freya projected her thoughts into Morgana's mind.

Morgana shivered. _Stop doing that._

_We have to tell her at some point. Gwen's going to find out whether we like it or not._

_And how do we know that she won't go straight to Uther? Both you and Gwen are in danger while you know._

_My lady, with all respect, I've been in danger since the moment I was dragged into this damned city. _Freya pulled her sleeve up, showing the other woman the triskelion that had been marked on her arm by the druids. _I fully trust Gwen, and, believe me, I need that trust more than you do._

_Do you think I am not in danger for possessing such a gift? _Morgana glared at the other witch.

_I know that you will not be put to death for it. Uther would never forgive himself if he did._

_And such a thing gives you more of an opinion in this argument than I?_

Freya sighed. _I'm going to do it._

_But-_

_Doing it…_

_Freya-_

_Doing. It._

"Gwen?" Freya called.

"Hm?" Gwen looked over at the other two women. Upon seeing their faces - Freya's painted with worry and determination; Morgana's with annoyance and grace - she began to wonder what they knew that she did not.

"We must confide in you, Gwen," Freya began. "But you must swear not to tell Uther, nor Arthur, nor anyone else in this palace or in Camelot."

Gwen looked troubled. Freya worried that she would betray them anyway, for the ordinary citizens of Camelot believed what the king told them about magic and did not seek to think for themselves.

"Is something wrong?" Gwen asked.

"No," Freya answered. "Quite the opposite actually." She guided Gwen to a chair, and took the one opposite. Morgana took another chair and sat on Gwen's other side. When they all sat down, Morgana nodded to Freya and the druid girl once again pushed back her sleeve, revealing the mark on her forearm.

Gwen gasped. "You're a druid?"

Freya nodded simply. "I was."

"Freya was brought here by a slave trader," Morgana supplied. "Merlin and Gaius freed her."

"That's horrible!" Gwen exclaimed. She hugged her friend tightly, though Freya was visibly distressed. The latter stumbled backward in an attempt to escape the hug, though she only managed to knock over a pitcher.

Freya's instincts took over, and she cast a spell to stop the pitcher before more wine stained the floor. "_Frēosaþ." _The metal jug and the wine spilling out froze in midair, seeming like it could fall at any second. "_Undydest." _The pitcher floated up to the table as if it had never been dropped at all.

Gwen looked into her friend's eyes as if she was seeing them for the first time. Freya knew that she was trying to comprehend how this could be.

_She's in denial, _Freya thought.

_No, _Morgana supplied, having heard the other's thoughts. _She feels betrayed._

They both looked to Gwen, who was wearing a look of utter shock and resentment on her face. "_Magic_," She whispered. "You have magic?"

"I'm sorry, Gwen, I should have told you before-"

"She has a right to feel angry, you know," Morgana agreed, cutting the other witch off. "But, Gwen, you must realize that Freya has risked a great deal to tell you this. If you do decide to tell Uther of her power, her blood shall be on your hands as well as his."

_Maybe a little less gruesome?_

Morgana tilted her head in reply. _No._

Gwen turned to Morgana. "I suppose you know about this too, my lady?"

The green-eyed witch nodded solemnly, her eyes flashing an impossible gold as all of the candles in the room went alight. Another flash, and they were extinguished. "I regret that I did not trust you with this information before, but I believe that it is necessary to ensure that Arthur and Merlin both return alive."

"My lady?" Gwen posed the question, though both she and Freya looked worried.

"I've been having more nightmares," Morgana supplied simply. "They show both Merlin and Arthur dying horribly. In a number of different ways. I fear they are a precursor of what is to come."

"But what can we do? They have already left." Freya wondered aloud. With every passing minute she worried that another horrible thing could happen to Merlin and she wouldn't be there for him. She was trapped like an insect in tree sap.

"We follow them." Morgana concluded. "I'll tell Uther we're out riding for the day. With luck, we will be too far away before anyone notices anything wrong."

_Let's hope nothing happens to them before we're there to help, _Freya thought hopelessly.

* * *

Forests could be many different things. Of the things they were not, the main one was safe. Even while riding in a caravan of knights who would probably die to save his life, Merlin still felt uneasy as he rode through the Forest of Essetir.

"Merlin?" Hunith asked softly.

He looked at his mother, realizing that he had been staring off into the distance for a number of minutes. "Yes?"

"The day grows long," Hunith observed. "We must stop and rest."

Merlin nodded to his mother, then turned his attention to Arthur and Sir Leon. "It's getting dark," he told them.

Arthur scoffed. "Are you scared of the dark, Merlin?"

The sounds of the forest that surrounded them were no more. Only the faint sound of horses' hooves could be heard; all other noises being swallowed by the vastness of twilight.

"Arthur…" Merlin cautioned, gripping the hilt of the sword he had been gifted.

A deafening yell could be heard as bandits surrounded the small party of knights, dooming all to a night of pain and bloodshed.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The multiple POV's thing is going to continue for a while, as we have the girls on one adventure, and the Gang™ on another, as well as occasional visits to the evil bastard himself, King Marcus. 
> 
> The chapter title is a latin phrase that translates to "the die is cast". Points to anyone who can tell me who said it. 
> 
> -Mags


	8. Chapter 7 - Through Nature to Eternity

The sounds of battle overwhelmed Merlin as he unsheathed his sword. All around him, weapons clashed and men fell. Swearing under his breath, Merlin reset his grip on the sword and charged into battle, parrying a blow from one bandit and dodging a swing from another.

He was glad he was wearing chainmail, though he was worried that his mother was not. Hunith had not requested armor of any kind, nor did she have enough experience with a sword to survive an attack like this by herself.

Another bandit rushed at Merlin, swinging a mace above his head. The bandit smiled as he was about to bring the weapon down…

Merlin smelled the coppery scent of blood, looking down to see the tip of a sword protruding from the bandit's gut. The man fell, and there behind him was Arthur.

"Try to stay alive, Merlin, the rest of this trip would be rather boring without you." Arthur looked to his friend and nodded, then charged back into the fight.

A high-pitched shriek rang through the forest. Merlin, seeing his knights' panicked faces, ran to where his mother's horse was when they stopped. There was no rider on the black mare, though most of the saddlebags were still intact.

Ignoring most of his battle instincts, Merlin closed his eyes. He could feel the life and the magic around him. Each person was connected to the earth, their life forces pulsing like flames in the dark. Merlin searched for his mother's heartbeat, her connection to the earth and the sky.

He felt the knights, Arthur, even the bandits that laid dead at his feet. But he did not feel his mother. It was if the queen had vanished from the face of the earth.

"Merlin!"

The prince opened his eyes. Turning, he saw Sir Cassius. Cassius, usually the most level-headed out of all the Ocrisan knights, looked somewhat panicked, though he was trying to hide his emotions from the rest of the party.

Both Cassius and Will made their way towards Merlin, each surviving the battle with cuts and bruises.

"You're alright?" Will questioned, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Fine," Merlin assured him. "What of the my mother?"

"Sirs Dorain and Terryn were able to escort Her Majesty to safer ground," Cassius answered. He lowered his voice to a whisper before continuing. "Sir Dorain will make contact with me when they find a suitable place to make camp."

Merlin nodded. "Very well. Take their horses' reins until we are able to find them."

Will and Cassius bowed their heads before turning to confer with one of Arthur's knights.

"Will!" Merlin called. Will turned towards his friend. "How many dead?"

The knight sighed. "One of ours and two of Arthur's." Once again he turned, making to leave his friend be. Then, changing his mind, Will turned around again, embracing Merlin in a short, yet comforting hug. "It will be okay," he whispered.

"Thank you," Merlin whispered back. Nothing had gone to plan so far. They had been riding for a day and already three men were dead and two separated. If this was the quality of his leadership during a crisis, what kind of a king would he be?

Merlin massaged his temples. This was no time to be thinking of himself. There was still work to be done, and the night was far from over. His trials were far from over.

It was with great sadness that Merlin approached the body of the fallen Ocrisan knight. Will and Sir Merek - another knight traveling with them - had identified the body as Sir Favian, another knight from Balinor's time as ruler. Favian had always been a zealous fighter, enjoying combat as much as a night in the tavern. He had also been one of the king's most powerful sorcerers, even so that he had been one of Merlin's first tutors in magic.

Holding back tears, Merlin placed a hand on Sir Favian's forehead, and began to recite a prayer.

"_May the goddess guide him to Avalon; may he receive his eternal reward._"

Though he received strange looks from many Camelotian knights, Merlin believed that he was right in saything the parting prayer over Favian's body. It was the least he could do to ensure his fallen comrade an afterlife of happiness.

Sir Cassius soon repeated the prayer over Favian's body, followed by Sir Merek, and then finally Will after him. Merlin could barely stop himself from crying as they laid the last stones in Favian's gravemarker. This was all his fault.

* * *

Though the night grew on and their brothers-in-arms grew weary, no one could find the courage to sleep. The adrenaline of battle still scorched through their veins, the losses of the day still heavy in their hearts. Knights of both kingdoms found themselves together around a dying fire, united in their grief and pain.

Even so, Merlin felt even more isolated from his friends and knights. He knew they would follow him, but also that they would blame him for Sir Favian's death. Everyone would. These thoughts kept running through is head as he stared into the fire. Where had it all gone wrong?

"Merlin." The prince in question lifted his head, finding himself face-to-face with Arthur.

"What?" he was still trying to keep from crying. He would never hear the end of it he did.

"You've seen men die before, Merlin," Arthur told him. Merlin could tell Arthur was trying to keep his tone comforting. "How is this any different?"

"He died for me," Merlin answered. "That's why. _I_ put him in danger and _I'm_ the reason he's gone."

"Sir Favian was a knight. It was his duty to protect you, same as it was Sir Owain's and Sir Galehaut's duty to protect me." Arthur put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "This is the burden we carry, the curse we bare. Their sacrifices will not be forgotten."

Merlin nodded his head, a wave of drowsiness washing over him. He stared into the fire for another moment, trying to absorb its warmth. The light was dwindling, though, the night growing colder. Like everything else in Merlin's life, the fire was dying.

"I'll go get more firewood," Merlin proclaimed, taking his chance to escape the large group.

He could hear Arthur's and Will's objections as he walked farther and farther from the group, but he did not care. He just needed to get away.

The moonlight bathed the forest in an eerie glow as Merlin trekked through the wood, searching not for firewood but a comfortable place to sit down. Eventually, he came upon a stream surrounded by brambles and thickets.

Sighing, Merlin sat down by the stream, running a hand through the cool water.

_Goddess help me, _he thought.

Taking another deep breath, Merlin felt for the earth's magic. It was humming now, growing larger and larger as they traveled further from Camelot. It was easier for Merlin to connect to the magic as well, his own magic merging with the earth and creating something far more powerful.

Merlin held out his hand, thinking of Freya. "_Eorðbergan,_" he incanted.

A cluster of strawberries appeared in his hand. Feeling satisfied, Merlin began to eat.

_I should probably get some firewood soon, _he thought idly.

* * *

Merlin had been gone too long. Everybody knew it. Could he have run away? Had someone taken him? No one knew for certain, least of all Sir Leon.

The Ocrisan knights, few though there were, became suspicious of their Camelotian counterparts, though Leon knew they would not admit it. Knights were far too prideful to admit when something got to them.

Leon looked to Arthur, who seemed about as agitated as the Ocrisans.

"I'll go check on Merlin," Leon suggested, grabbing his sword and exiting the camp. He could hear the whispers of the other knights behind him.

Leaves crunched under his feet as he journeyed through the forest, still no sign of Merlin. The little guy couldn't just disappear, right?

Leon continued through the wood, hearing the sound of running water. Following the sound, he saw a boy sitting among the bushes, running a hand through the water. The boy turned slightly, and Leon saw his unusually blue eyes through the darkness. _Merlin._

Merlin took a deep breath, holding his hand out, palm-up.

"_Eorðbergan,_" he whispered. Just like that, a handful of strawberries appeared in Merlin's hand. Though the language he spoke was unknown to Leon, the magical flash of gold in his eyes was all-too-familiar to the knight.

_Magic. Merlin has magic._

He couldn't have it, though. He was _Merlin_.

Could he?

As he sat there in the dirt, Leon realized how little he knew of his scrawny friend. How was a sorcerer able to live in his midst for so long? How was a foreign prince able to live in his midst for so long?

The more and more he thought on the matter, the more Leon realized he did not know Merlin at all. _If that's even his real name…_

What was hardest about his predicament, however, was whether or not he would tell Arthur. Hell, Leon wasn't sure that Arthur would believe him. Merlin, like it or not, was a prince. Accusing a foreign prince of possessing magic was possibly the highest offence that Leon could willingly commit. The deaths of Sirs Favian, Galehaut, and Owain had created a barrier between the knights, and accusing the Ocrisan prince, the very reason they were on this journey, of having magic would only drive them further apart.

Leon sighed.

_As long as I'm out here, I should probably find some firewood, _he thought.

* * *

_Snow fell all around them as a battle raged on. Steel clashed and men fell, dooming the wounded to a slow and painful death by frostbite._

_Sorcerers chanted spells, bright fireballs shooting in all directions. Men screamed as the flames touched their skin, falling to the snow-covered ground in a hope to extinguish them. One unlucky soldier caught fire and fell, feeling momentary relief, as the sorcerer who lit him ablaze drew a dagger and slit his throat._

_A shadow appeared over the battlefield, prompting all who could to gaze up and see a mighty dragon. The dragon snarled, raining yet more fire down on the battle._

_In the midst of the commotion stood a man in a red cape. He fought with as sword as if he had been birthed with it in hand. No one could doubt that he was powerful._

_Another caped man approached the one in red, though the newcomer's was a deep, unrelenting blue. Without warning or hesitation, the blue-caped man stabbed the red, watching the latter fall to the ground._

"_You've lost," was all he said, taking his leave as the red-caped man's vision began to fade._

_The cold of the day helped numb the pain of dying, though the red-caped man still felt it as he passed into Avalon, hoping that the old gods might grant him mercy._

_The dragon gave a deafening roar from above, as he knew this land's greatest hope had just been taken from them._

_Arthur Pendragon was dead._

The moon had barely began its descent when Morgana awoke, sweat plastered to her face.

"Morgana?" Freya asked, noticing that her friend was no longer asleep.

"Arthur." It was all the king's ward could say. "Arthur is going to die."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little context for the end: the girls are camping in the woods, and Freya was on watch. 
> 
> (I feel like there's a lack of Merlin-actually-knows-what-he's-doing in Prince!Merlin fics, so I added some in.)
> 
> This was the first of the Shakespeare titles, so points to anyone who can name the play from which it came. 
> 
> This is also the last update for a bit of time (probably), as this is how many chapters is posted on FF, and also how many chapters I have finished. 
> 
> (I am pretty proud of the writing at the end during Morgana's dream) 
> 
> -Mags


	9. Chapter 8 - Something Wicked This Way Comes

Birdsong wafted through the forest as Merlin awoke, eyes fluttering lazily. The rush of battle had worn off in his sleep, leaving only aching limbs in its wake. The fire had gone cold many hours ago, Merlin noted, and now only smoke trailed from the pile of charred wood; all warmth gone. 

Arthur and the knights slept soundly, as it was still the early hours of the morning. Merlin wondered if his mother was asleep wherever Dorain and Terryn had found shelter for the night. Thinking of his mother brought a  _ pang _ of sadness over him, as the thought made Merlin remember the losses of the previous day. 

_ Sir Terryn?  _

Merlin reached out with his thoughts, being careful to avoid the minds of the sleeping knights. 

_ Sir Dorain?  _

Nothing. 

They were alright, weren’t they? They had to be. It had been a day at most since they were separated, and they surely couldn’t be more than a few leagues away at most… what could possibly go wrong?

_ Maybe that’s not the best thing for me to be thinking right now.  _ Merlin sighed, trekking from the small clearing where the party slept to the grove where they had tethered their horses. Among the drowsy animals was Merlin’s horse, (whom Freya had affectionately nicknamed “Barley”, seemingly because that was the only grain the stallion would eat; Merlin preferred to call him “Pretentious”, or “Arthur”). 

The warlock began to search through Barley’s saddlebags for spare rations, but to no avail. With another sigh, Merlin resigned himself to waiting for food until the others awoke, which could be hours from then. 

_ Sire?  _

Going quickly from I-don’t-like-titles-stop-calling-me-sire to who-the-hell-is-talking-in-my-head, Merlin realized that the voice wasn’t Sir Dorain or Sir Terryn, but Sir Cassius. 

_ Yes? _

_ I’ve managed to make contact with the queen and Sir Dorain. They have sought shelter in a clearing about a league or two west of our current position. We should be able to reach them before noon.  _

_ Thank you, Cassius.  _ Merlin really meant what he said. More often than not, he realized this “thank you”’s were only given as a sign of his gratitude, and not that he really did mean it. This time, he really was grateful to Sir Cassius and the loyalty that the old knight had shown to him. 

There was a bit of a jump in his step as Merlin returned to the small camp, excited to relay the news to the others. Sure enough, Cassius was sitting on a stump nearby, doing nothing more than whittling away at a stick. 

“You’ll need a cover story,” Merlin told him, making sure to keep his voice quiet. “Knights of Camelot won’t trust us if they know we have sorcerers in our ranks.” 

Cassius shrugged, barely glancing up from his stick. “I ventured out into the forest early this morning to relieve myself and heard their voices in the distance.” 

“But you said that they were over a league away!”

“I’m a very private person.” Cassius winked at Merlin, a gesture that had made the prince snicker since he was a little boy. 

A groan attracted the attention of both men, who turned their heads to see that Arthur was now awake, and rubbing his head after he had apparently slipped. This sent Merlin into another wave of giggles, though Arthur did not find his pain as funny as the latter did. 

“It’s not funny,  _ Merlin _ ,” Arthur said, in the indignant way only he could. 

Merlin held a finger to his chin, as if pondering a deeper question. “You’re right,” he ended up saying. “Not funny at all.” Merlin had barely voiced the last syllable of “all” before he fell into another fit of giggles. 

Cassius cleared his throat as Merlin was laughing, drawing Arthur’s attention towards the older knight. “I spotted a clearing about a league or so west of here. If I’m not mistaken, that’s where Queen Hunith and Sirs Terryn and Dorain are resting.” 

“The queen isn’t here with us?” Arthur questioned, turning around to make sure that Cassius was not lying to him. 

Merlin rolled his eyes. Sometimes he forgot how truly oblivious his former master was. (He figured that was the only way his magic was able to stay a secret for such a long time). “Did you seriously not notice that the only woman in our party, and a _ queen _ , no less, was missing?” 

Cassius looked at his prince with confusion, as he had adopted a very Arthur-like tone. 

Arthur, in turn, adopted a more Merlin-like attitude, looking away from his friend and mumbling an excuse about “not paying attention”. 

The knight cleared his throat, drawing the attention of both princes. “Are your knights awake, Prince Arthur?” 

“Most of them,” Arthur replied. “I think Lanval might need a couple more minutes.” 

Merlin looked over at Cassius, a look of understanding passing between the two. “Ready your knights and wake Lanval,” he told Arthur. “We should reach my mother in a few hours if we leave soon.” The warlock-prince then turned and left, going to give orders to the rest of the Ocrisans. 

“Hang on - hang on a minute!” Arthur followed his friend, an indignant look on his face. “Since when do you give the orders?”

“It’s my quest, turnip-head.” 

* * *

Gwen awoke to the sounds of her two friends whispering. Though her ears were used to listening in on the hushed words of nobles, she only caught snippets of what they were saying. Of what she did hear, mainly the words “dream,” “Arthur,” and “death,” she was deeply concerned. 

“Freya?” she questioned, causing the other girl to jump. “Is everything alright?”

The two exchanged a look - an occurrence that was becoming more and more common, when Gwen thought about it - before Morgana spoke. 

“We have told you of my dreams, right Gwen?” 

Gwen nodded, still confused. 

“It has become apparent that my dreams can predict the future, as I’m sure you already know. Last night I had a more disturbing dream, depicting a great battle.” 

“And a dragon,” Freya added. 

“And a dragon,” Morgana agreed. “In this battle, there were knights of Camelot fighting alongside knights of a foreign land on a snowy plain. The dragon rained down fire and-” she stopped, but for what reason Gwen only feared. Morgana regained her composure before continuing. “Arthur was fighting. He felled many men before a knight of Ocrisa attacked him from behind.” 

Morgana’s eyes welled up with tears. She reached forward, enveloping her friend and servant in an embrace, though Gwen could not tell if it was for her comfort or Morgana’s, as both were on the verge of crying. 

“If you truly did see the future,” Gwen started, making a theory. She knew little about magic or gods, but she did know that everything happened for a purpose, no matter how small or meaningless. “Then it must be a warning of some kind. If the old gods want you to know what happens in the battle, shouldn’t there be a way to prevent it?” 

Both looked to Freya, who, being the most studied practitioner of magic among them, was most likely to have the experience to confirm Gwen’s theory. The druid girl simply shrugged. “If this were the old days, we could consult the High Priestesses, but their order has died out. All I know is that there are certain things that are prophesied, like the coming of Emrys or the Once and Future King, other things are changeable. But those changes to have consequences. If you try to change the future, you will only bring it about faster.” 

“If we are to prevent Arthur’s death, shouldn’t we find Athur first?” The question had seemed fairly obvious to Gwen, though the looks on her companions’ faces made it clear that the query was far from their minds. 

Freya agreed, dousing the fire and stretching her arms. “It’s getting late,” she observed. 

Gwen stood, stretching her own limbs after sleeping on the ground. The sun was already high enough in the sky that she grew concerned about encountering a patrol from Camelot. They were still too close to the city walls for comfort. Sure, they had made it into the Forest of Essetir, but that wasn’t far enough to get away from Uther. Gwen knew that he was probably sick with worry, and would most likely blame Merlin for whatever happened to Morgana. 

They continued to mill about the camp for another half of an hour, packing up bedrolls and hiding their tracks from any potential patrols. It was not until both Freya and herself were settled on their horses that Gwen noticed Morgana was still sitting by the fire, which was nothing more than smoking ashes. 

Knowing what her friend must be thinking, Gwen dismounted, handing her reins to Freya before going to check on her mistress. 

“My lady?” she asked, sitting beside a once-again crying Morgana. 

Morgana looked back, green eyes filled with tears. “Gwen?”

Her voice was small and fearful, nothing like the Morgana who had followed Arthur into battle, the Morgana Gwen had been proud to serve. 

“You’re afraid,” Gwen started. She was afraid too. Afraid for the life of someone she cared about, loved even. “And fear does nothing more than limit you. It winds its way into you and makes a home in your nightmares, but there is always the opportunity to beat it. If you have hope, if you think that you can beat something, that you can  _ change _ , than that fear has nowhere to go. It leaves because you have hope, and you win because you believe that you can.” 

Gwen sighed, trying to make sense of what she just said. 

“We can change the future if we believe that we can, but we can’t save anyone if we fear the future.” 

Morgana said nothing, simply drying her eyes and standing. She smiled at Gwen before giving a brief hug. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

Gwen nodded, guiding her friend to the horses as the three prepared to set off. 

* * *

The sun was high in the sky as Cassius led them through the forest, to where Merlin assumed his mother, Dorain, and Terryn were waiting. Heat blared down on the knights from above, making sweat pearl on the back of Merlin’s neck. He had forgotten what it felt like to wear so many layers, to have the padding and the armor and the cape on in the sweltering heat of the day. 

Most of the time passed journeying was accompanied by Arthur’s constant prattling about one topic or another. His favorite was the subject of Ocrisa, though Merlin remained intentionally cryptid as to not alert the other prince to the fact that magic was all but at the center of Ocrisan culture. He remembered the feasts held for Yule and Beltaine, the High Priestesses blessing the food in the name of the Goddess. The festivals held in Avondraca the week before Samhain, the dances and shows performed in the square. Dragons flying overhead each year on his birthday, saluting their friend and prince. 

Ocrisa was a land of magic. It was the last of the great kingdoms to be ruled by a line of Dragonlords, home to a still-surviving order of Priestesses and a haven for the druids and the Catha. 

_ Or, at least, it was…  _ Merlin grimaced, his thoughts turning miserable yet again. He couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt that had sunk over him the night Lord Castilian invaded. He forgot about it at times, sure, but it was always there. Especially when Arthur was forcing him to think about the land that he felt he had abandoned. 

“Oi!” 

A shout came from the trees. 

The noise drew Merlin out of his stupor, his attention moving to the man standing in a bramble of bushes, a cape of deep blue resting on his shoulders. 

The shout was met with rejoicing by the knights to see another one of their companions alive and well. Merek and Will were the first to dismount, followed by Sir Cassius and a number of knights of Camelot. Merlin himself jumped from his horse, securing its reins before venturing into the clearing to seek out Dorain and Terryn. 

Sure enough, Sir Terryn was sitting against a tree, greeting his comrades while refusing to stand. Merlin offered an arm, helping Terryn to stand, though the knight still refused. After seeing that this battle had been lost, Merlin sat on his haunches, offering a “thank you” to the loyal knight. 

“Thank you,” he said, offering a hand this time. 

“It was the least I could do, my lord,” Terryn answered. 

Merlin nodded, standing to his full height. Turning around, he saw his mother standing in the middle of the clearing. There was a piece of blue fabric tied around her arm, a purple stain giving away the cloth’s purpose. 

“Mother!” Merlin moved to greet her, taking the queen into a warm embrace. Hunith offered a greeting to her son, receiving the hug with a thankful smile. “Are you hurt? What’s happened?” 

“It was nothing dear, truly, I am fine.” 

Merlin held his mother’s arm out into the sunlight. Gently, he poked a finger to the bloodstain on the makeshift bandage, testing to see if the blood was still wet. Satisfied that his finger had come away clean, Merlin lifted his eyes back to his mother. 

“How long was it bleeding for?” he asked. 

“I don’t know. One of the bandits cut me, and then all I remember was Dorain and Terryn running with me to this clearing. Dorain ripped the bandage from his cape and it must have stopped bleeding during the night, but it did hurt terribly all morning.” 

Merlin lifted up the bandage slightly, peeking at the wound underneath. 

“We’ll need to wash and redress the wound. I’m sure Sir Merek can help. He’s far more versed in herblore than I am.” 

He called Merek over, explaining the situation. The red-headed knight assured him that his mother would be fine, then escorted his queen away so that they might address her wound. 

It was then that Merlin found himself sitting against a tree, thinking of Freya. Her eyes, her lips, the way the sun shone off her hair in the early hours of the morning. She was probably thinking of him too, he realized. 

Something pulled at the back of his neck. It was magical, Merlin was certain. Standing, he scanned the ground around him. Nothing seemed out of place. Knights milled about their business, sharpening swords and drinking from waterskins. But something just wasn’t right. 

He ventured out of the clearing, moving to a place that overlooked a valley, for they were camped on a cliff. 

_ The prince won’t know what hit him.  _

It was his voice. Castilian’s. In his head. 

Merlin cringed, holding his head in his hands. What was going on? 

* * *

Freya brushed another lock of hair out of her face as she steered her horse onward. The sun, though still high in the sky, had begun its descent towards the horizon. If they were still in Camelot, the bells would have chimed four tolls. 

Morgana, though still shaken from their discussions that morning, rode alongside her, looking regal even in the mail tunic she was wearing. Freya could see Morgana mouthing words, heard the guttural sounds that only the tongue of the Old Religion could make. 

“My lady?” she asked. 

Morgana blinked, looking at Freya in confusion before replying. “Yes?” 

“Do you think we’ve covered enough ground to stop for a rest?”

Internally, she asked,  _ What kind of spell were you casting?  _

“The sun still sits high in the sky. We will probably be able to continue for another hour or two.”  _ I was covering our tracks. Uther probably has the best knights in the kingdom looking for us and, right now, I think it’s best that we’re not found.  _

Freya nodded. “What do you think, Gwen?”

Gwen, who was riding a few paces ahead, said nothing. 

The two witches exchanged a look, concluding that she was thinking of Arthur. 

“Look!” Gwen pulled on her horse’s reins, bringing the animal to a stop before dismounting. Freya followed, walking over to where Gwen was crouched over a body. 

A  _ dead _ body. 

“Something happened here.” Morgana proclaimed, surveying the site from her position on horseback. 

Freya examined the body, concluding that Gwen had not, in fact, ran somebody over with her horse. “He’s been dead for what seems to be about two days. You can see the final stages of rigor mortis setting in.” She pointed to the body, which was face-down on the ground. “The blood will start accumulating along his underside before long.” 

“He should have a grave, shouldn’t he?” Gwen questioned. “His body’s been dishonored and thrown into the road.”

“Criminals don’t deserve marked graves.” Morgana was crouched by another body, holding a large pouch of coin in her hands. “These men were bandits,” she gestured to the other bodies strewn around. 

Knowing they could use some money for their travels, Freya began rifling through the pockets of another one of the bandits. Her hands landed on something metal. When she moved it into the light she found that it was not a spare coin or a good luck charm, but a seal. 

“Do bandits usually keep the things they rob from nobles?”

“They barter their stolen wares for food or clothing. I’ve seen it before in the lower town.” Gwen answered. 

Freya looked between her friends. “Then why is this one carrying the seal of the house of Castilian on it?” 

Morgana’s eyes grew wide as she realized something. “We have to warn Merlin.” 

* * *

There were voices in his head that were not his own.

Merlin had heard a couple of little things here and there, but what worried him was what the voices were saying. Lord Castilian’s voice rang loud and clear, proclaiming the downfall of the beloved Ocrisan prince. There were others, too, ones that he couldn’t quite make out. Nonetheless, they all bore the same warning. 

Castilian was planning something to lure Merlin in. 

But what scared Merlin the most was that he felt he might be walking right into the traitor’s trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been WAY too long, and I am extremely sorry. So, to make up for it, here's a 3000-word chapter. 
> 
> Updates will probably be more spread out from now on, as I'm now back in school and don't have enough time to write and do my homework (high school isn't fun, y'all). 
> 
> Kudos are always welcome, and, as usual, points to anyone who can guess where this chapter's titile comes from.   
(Hint: It's not that song from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban).
> 
> -Mags


	10. Chapter 9 - Come What Come May

_ My lord? _

The glow of the ring in his hand was difficult to hide as Will made his way through the Ocrisan camp. Carefully, he pulled a glove from his belt and covered his hand while still keeping the ring out of sight. The last thing he needed was a fellow knight getting suspicious of a traitor in their ranks. 

_ My lord? _

_ Yes, William?  _

The king’s thoughts rushed into Will’s head. His voice was rough - tired, angry, or something else, Will couldn’t tell. 

_ I bring more news of Prince Merlin’s travels.  _

The king gave no reply. 

_ My lord?  _

_ Well, boy! Get on with it! _

_ The prince and Queen Hunith have been reunited - they were separated after a bandit attack. One Ocrisan was lost in the attack as well as two from Camelot and the entire company of bandits. All are extremely vulnerable at the moment, especially the prince and queen.  _

_ Please do elaborate, William.  _

Will could hear the sarcasm in the king’s voice, but chose not to comment on the subject. Instead, he continued. 

_ Queen Hunith was injured in the attack. There is a medium-sized wound in her right arm that could prevent her from weilding a sword, or potentially become infected without proper care. Prince Merlin’s troubles, on the other hand, are entirely mental. He blames himself for the death of the Ocrisan knight - one Sir Favian - and has confided in me such.  _

_ You have done well, William.  _

_ Thank you, sire.  _

_ Now, I think, it is time we move on to the next phase of our plans.  _

_ My lord? _

They had never discussed anything beyond Merlin’s wearabouts or intentions. Will had only ever agreed to spy - he thought of it as less of a betrayal, somehow. But, as the king spoke into his mind, he realized that he had strayed father and farther away from his path than intended. Spying was nothing more than acting as a witness and a middleman; learning information and delivering it to your master. 

What the king was describing -  _ his _ king, now, Will remembered - was something far beyond that. This… this was calculated, formed through long nights thinking of nothing more than revenge and greed. 

_ I shall speak with you again when I wish for my orders to be carried out. Is that clear, William? _

_ Yes, sire.  _

The king had gone silent, though their connection had not been severed. He was laughing, Will thought. Laughing at the demise he had planned for the unknowing prince. 

_ The prince won’t know what hit him.  _

_ My lord?  _

_ Goodbye, William. And remember: I do not like to be betrayed.  _

Will felt the foreign presence disappear from his mind. All was quiet. Looking around, he removed the glove from his hand and carefully stowed the ring on a string of leather around his neck. 

As he walked back into the center of camp, Will noticed the carefree attitudes of the knights around him. They seemed to be enjoying their lives - making jokes, reciting tales, reminiscing about their homes or families. No man had knowledge of what suffering was about to befall him. 

_ It’s a tragedy, really,  _ Will thought.  _ It’s as if our lives are nothing more than a play being performed for a crowd’s enjoyment.  _

“Will!” 

The knight turned quickly, seeing Merlin approach him from behind. “Sire?”

A shadow of an expression passed over Merlin’s face for a fraction of a second. Will could only attribute it to the prince’s dislike of formal titles. 

“Are you alright? You seem a bit… detached.” 

“Fine,” Will answered, scratching the back of his neck. “Is your mother alright?”

Merlin shrugged. “The cut looked okay when I saw it, and knowing Merek, it should heal enough to continue on soon.” 

Will nodded, thinking for a moment of the journey to come. Winter was fast approaching, even for the sunny, temperate land of Camelot.“Are Arthur’s knights prepared to travel north?”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re probably not prepared for winter travel, seeing as how far south Camelot is. I mean, it hasn’t snowed in Ealdor since-” A grin spread across his face as he remembered the first winter they spent together in the small farming village. All of the other children were mystified when it snowed there for the first time in years. Merlin, however, took the opportunity to start a to-the-death snowball fight with Will, which lasted over days and well into the evenings. 

Merlin smiled too, likely thinking of simpler times. 

Will stood there with his friend for what seemed like ages, the awkwardness of the silence between them growing larger and larger until one of the two had to force himself away. This turned out to be Merlin, who excused himself in order to get an update on his mother’s condition. 

The knight chose to stand and think for a moment, wondering how he and Merlin had grown apart in the two years since the latter left for Camelot. It was not so long ago that they were throwing snowballs in Ealdor and daring each other to spend nights in the caves without lanterns. 

Destiny, Will supposed, worked in the strangest of ways. 

* * *

_ How much farther north is Ocrisa?  _ Arthur found himself wondering. He had journeyed through Camelot and the surrounding lands before, but never over the Feorres. Knights returning on quests from Cenred’s and Odin’s lands often brought with them tales of northern winters, where, sometimes, it would become so cold that the land would turn white.

Arthur, being a child at the time, wondered what kind of magics the northern people possessed to turn their homes white in the cold. Now, after many long talks of science with Gaius, Arthur knew that the whiteness was due to nothing more than freezing water. 

What he did not know, however, was how people survived in such temperatures without living by a fire for three months straight. When he’d asked Merlin about this - surely, that would be a thing the idiot  _ knew  _ \- he said little of importance besides “dress warm and cover your hands”. 

And so, Arthur found himself riding into a nearby town - Carran, Leon had called it - in search of extra food and supplies. Carran was relatively large for one of Camelot’s outlying towns, having its own inns, a marketplace, and a tavern. 

Both men - Athur and Sir Leon, as they were the two charged with obtaining more supplies - dismounted their horses and led a path through the crowded market. As they scoured for useful supplies, Arthur made note of the behavior in the residents of the town. By the look of it, the last of the harvest was being collected and the air was beginning to grow colder. Either they paid too little attention to it or he was being too precautious, Arthur couldn’t tell. 

Finally, Leon caught sight of a stall towards the outskirts of the market, that sold blankets, flintstones, and socks, among other things. As they were making their purchases, Arthur couldn't help but notice Leon eyeing him suspiciously. 

“Is there something you need, Leon?” Arthur asked once they had made their purchases. “You seem awfully quiet today.” 

Leon chuckled. “Believe me, sire, compared to some of the Ocrisans, silence is bliss.” 

Arthur gave a small laugh, but was still concerned by Leon’s silence.

As soon as they had purchased their wares, Arthur cornered the other knight as they made preparations to leave. “There’s something you’re not telling me, Leon. I know I’ve no right to your private matters, but, as your friend and as your prince, I believe your distracted manner may prove dangerous to us in the long days ahead.” 

Leon looked down, still not talking. Ages seemed to pass before he looked Arthur in the eye, finally confessing his secret. “It’s about…. It’s about Merlin, sire.”

Merlin? What could Leon possibly know about Merlin? 

“What about him?”

“After we buried Owain and Galehaut, he ran off. You remember, none of his knights told him it was a good idea to get more firewood, but he went anyway. I followed him.” 

“And?”

“He walked out of the sight of our camp, to a river. When he thought he was alone…” 

“What happened?” Why did Leon think he needed to know this?

“Merlin has magic,” Leon blurted. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes.” 

Magic. Merlin  _ couldn’t  _ have magic. The fool was too clumsy to pick up Arthur’s laundry every morning, nevertheless hide magic from the king. It didn’t make sense. 

But, then again, there had always been something strange about the boy. Upon the arrival of his mother Arthur had attributed it to Merlin’s newfound role as a servant, a means to an end rather than the center of attention. 

But Merlin,  _ Merlin _ , couldn’t have magic…

Could he?

* * *

The sun was sinking low on the horizon when word finally got around the camp that dinner was ready. Sirs Terryn and Lanval had managed to find wild carrots and shoot a rabbit, so all were happily enjoying bowls of stew. 

Merlin sat with his mother around one of many small fires. The two talked sparingly, in between mouthfuls of stew. 

Looking over at his mother, Merlin debated whether or not to tell her about the voices he’d been hearing. It was obvious at least one of them was Castilian’s. Merlin had heard enough of the slimy bastard at court to never forget the sound of his voice. It was the timing that worried him. 

He was about to open his mouth to speak when his mother cut him off. 

“I’m afraid I must confide in you something.” 

“What is it?” Merlin asked, both surprised and worried at the same time. 

“It’s about Gaius.” 

_ Gaius?  _ Had something happened to him? Merlin couldn’t think of a reason for his mother being worried about her uncle. He was a wonderful physician and a confidant of the king… 

Uther. 

Had Uther done something to harm Gaius? 

Did Uther know of Merlin’s magic?

“What about Gaius?” Merlin asked, trying not to let his anxious thoughts show on his face. 

“He decided to take the fall for your usage of magic in locating your father. While you were resting, he realized that Uther would not believe us if we could not say  _ how _ we knew where your father was, and he would likely withhold help and banish us from Camelot if he knew that you are a sorcerer.”

“ _ What? _ ” Gaius had lied to the king. That itself was not an unusual thing to happen, but lying about using magic… that was something else. Gaius could he dead right now, hanging from a noose and it would be Merlin’s fault.

Hunith placed her hand on her son’s arm. “I know, dear, I know. I tried to talk him out of it, but he gave me a sleeping draft - for a headache, he claimed - and went to Uther before I could do anything else.” She grasped his hand in hers. “Luckily, the dosage was weak enough that I woke up before anything happened to him… though Uther did want something in return for Gaius’s safety.” 

“Did he say what?” 

“He… he wanted my assurance that Ocrisa, once its rightful king was crowned, would pledge its allegiance to Camelot in the fight against magic.”

“That’s impossible.” Merlin could feel the tips of his ears turning red as anger seeped through him. “Does he not remember anything about Father, or our refusal to join the Purge-” 

Hunith shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. No man knows the mind of Uther Pendragon but Uther himself.”

_ To hell with Uther,  _ Merlin thought,  _ who would leverage a desperate woman for your political advantage? _

* * *

“ _ Bemeldaþ ús frumcend insegel. _ ” Morgana resisted the urge to close her eyes as the spell was finished. The rush of magic still felt foreign to her, the movement of power strange as the world bent to her will. 

Quickly, she stood up, brushing dirt off her trousers and returning the mysterious seal to Freya’s saddlebag, where it was decided it would be safest. 

“Did it work?” Gwen, as always, was never far away. She sat on horseback, holding the reins to Freya’s and Morgana’s horses. 

“Locator spells are trickey,” Freya said, getting up from where she was kneeling. “Even with our combined power, it may take a little while for the magic to manifest.” 

“We’ll make camp and wait until sundown,” Morgana decided. “I hate to admit it, but there’s nowhere to go until the spell takes effect.” To Morgana, no matter how far the small party traveled, they were always too close to Camelot. There was always too much of a chance that Uther’s men would go looking for them, a chance that he would lock up Gwen and Freya, execute them on falsified charges. 

She supposed she could be somewhat irrational in her worries, but nothing worried Morgana more than losing her friends to Uther’s untrusting nature and paranoia. Nothing mattered more to Morgana than her friends, and, Uther be damned, she would do much more for them than she would ever to for her guardian. 

“My lady?” 

Gwen’s words pulled Morgana out of her thoughts. “Yes?”

The maid put a finger to her lips, motioning for quiet. With her other hand, she pointed to a nearby ridge, where a precession of armed men could be seen riding through the woods. 

_ Bandits?  _ Freya asked. 

Morgana didn’t know - and, frankly, she didn’t care. “ _ Forswigaþ sé bearhtmas úre fōta ond friþhengesta,”  _ she chanted a spell. 

_ They - whoever they are - can’t hear us anymore.  _

Morgana pulled on her horse’s reins, spurring it into a silent gallop as she moved to get a better vantage point of the approaching men. Gwen and Freya followed noiselessly, dismounting after the three reached a small ridge. 

Freya - kind, loving, daring Freya - was the first to dismount. She glimpsed over the ridge, searching for anything to show the loyalties of the mystery newcomers. 

_ I can’t see much, _ she tried to think into not only the mind of Morgana, but of Gwen as well.  _ They wear no outward symbol of loyalty to any known house or kingdom, as far as I know.  _

_ Nothing?  _ Gwen asked. 

_ Nothing.  _ Freya confirmed.  _ Wait-  _

_ What?  _ Morgana could feel fear blooming in her chest. 

_ The horses - they’re pulling cages. Cages full of people.  _ Freya had to put a hand over her mouth to keep her gasp from being heard.  _ They’re slavers.  _

* * *

Wind howled as the men marched into the foreboding citadel. Its towers loomed over those who dared approach it, reflecting the harsh nature of its king in the very way it was constructed. Once, a kind king had ruled from this castle, keeping lights in the windows every night and sweets in his pockets for any child who could worm their way past the guards. 

Alas, times had changed. The castle was closed off from all visitors, the cruel, unforgiving king caring for the people he was supposed to lead and protect. 

And so, the men entered the citadel of Avondraca, named for one of the many dragons the king within its walls had once hailed and protected. 

“And ‘ou ‘re you?” the guard outside the council chambers asked. “What business do you have with the king?” 

“They’re my personal guests, Jarin.” The king, the false king of Ocrisa himself met them at the tall oak doors, a young, brown-haired men following behind. “You’re to let them in and forbid anyone else from entering.” 

“Yes, my lord.” Jarin bowed, opening the doors. 

King Marcus motioned for the men to follow him, his companion nodding to the men as they entered the council chambers together. 

“Welcome,” the king smiled cooly as the men watched him take his seat on the throne. “I appreciate you coming all this way, Urien, especially with your…  _ cargo. _ ”

Urien smiled to himself, exposing his yellow, jagged teeth. “It’s always good for business when I’m called upon by men of such noble status.” 

“Yes, yes, I’m sure it is.” The king waved a dismissing hand at his guest. “Now, have you brought what I asked of you?” 

Urien nodded, gesturing to the two men standing behind him. Both looked terrified to be standing before the king of Ocrisa, protected by nothing more than their new master’s desire for gold. “Two of the best I’ve captured this year. Fetch a good price on the market, they would.”

“I am prepared to pay any price for them, if they can truly do as you’ve boasted they can.” 

The slaver’s eyes met the king’s with a wicked glint. “All that and more, sire.” 

“For your sake I hope so.” The king looked to the brown-haired man, who had taken a place at his right. “William, untie them.” 

William nodded, stepping forward and taking the rope from Urien, who looked somewhat horrified to see the man he was about to do business with set his cargo free. 

“Worry not. I just need to see that they can indeed perform as you’ve said they can.” King Marcus then nodded to William, who, with gold glowing in his eyes, sent a ball of fire at the slaves. 

The one on the right reacted first, throwing his hand out and chanting. “ _ Bebiergaþ ús.”  _ The fire didn’t reach the two, it had been stopped by the slave’s protection spell. 

The king only smiled, though it was nothing more than a movement of the face. “And the other.” He pointed to the one on the left. 

The slave on the left gave William a shaky smile, hiding his fear better than his companion. “ _ Alaþ wīntrēow æt mé fōta.”  _ Vines sprouted from the floor at his feet. “ _ Dyttaþ.”  _ They stopped growing. “ _ Gedrysnaþ _ **.” ** The vines disappeared. 

Marcus nodded, impressed. “You have yourself to be an honest man, Urien. I suppose men of this talent would require a large sum?” 

Urien nodded. Before he could name his price, though, a pouch of coin was dropped at his feet. He opened the bag, counting the money inside. “Surely, you would have more, for two sorcerers such as these-” 

“Take the money or don’t. Try to leave with them and you’ll spend the rest of your days in a dungeon. Am I clear?” 

The slaver nodded, fear growing behind his dark brown eyes. “Of course, my lord.” 

“Then be gone before I throw you in the dungeons just for the fun of it.” The king waved him off, as if he was dismissing a servant.

Once Urien had taken his leave, the king turned his attention to the two slaves he just purchased. 

“I have a proposition for you,” he announced. 

“What is it, my lord?” the one on the right asked. 

“Though because I have the throne I am forced to make nice with horrible men like Urien, I despise those who buy and sell the lives of men. It is because of my mercy that I am offering one of you the chance to earn your freedom.” 

“How, sire?” the other asked. 

“Bring me the head of Balinor Ambrosius, and you shall live as a free man.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii!!!
> 
> I know my uploading schedule could possibly be deemed "HIATUS", but I'm not going to call it that b/c I'm nice. (Don't expect another one for a while, sorry!)
> 
> This chapter's title is another Shakespeare, so points to anyone who can comment the name of the play (but only the first to comment - no cheating!)
> 
> Happy New Year everyone!
> 
> -Mags


	11. Chapter 10 - Cry Havoc

The King of Camelot stared at the forest beyond his beloved city, wondering how he could let anyone kidnap his daughter from right under his nose. 

Morgana had disappeared five days ago. She had dismissed his offers for guards when going for a ride with her maid and Gaius’s apprentice. It was odd enough that she would choose to associate with someone of such low standing - from what Uther understood, Gaius and his ward had found the girl outside in the rain one night and decided to take her in, discovering that she showed talent as a healer. 

Surely Morgana had been enchanted into riding out with two servants and no guards to protect her. It was Uther’s only explanation for her disappearance. If she was indeed kidnapped, there would have been some kind of struggle, a sign that Morgana had tried to fight her way back to her home and guardian in Camelot. 

_ No, _ Uther concluded, his head clouded by hate.  _ This has to be the work of sorcery.  _

Why else would she put her trust in two peasants? It was the only sane thing Uther could think of. It was the  _ only _ explanation Uther could think of. 

“Sire?” 

The king turned to see two knights approach. The older of the two, Sir Pellinore, was an old friend. 

“What news have you, Sir Pellinore?” Uther asked. 

“Nothing, sire,” Pellinore sighed. “But I do carry a message from Gaius. He says that it is not good for your health to obsess over the Lady Morgana.” 

Uther laughed. It was a dry, unconvincing sound, that which only a mad king could make. “Gaius, you say?” his voice turned dark, untrusting. “I shall not take advice from a traitor, nor those who tell me to heed his advice. I shall not rest, either, until the Lady Morgana is found and those who have taken her are burned at the stake.” 

“My lord?”

“ _ What? _ ”

Uther’s words were harsh. It was hard for the knights to believe that this was the same man who had raised Arthur Pendragon. 

The king turned back to the window. “Send out a search party. I want Morgana found. And I want the sorcerers who have taken her to pay the price for what they have done.” 

The younger knight, Sir Claudin, eyed the king suspiciously, but said nothing of the sort to his companion. “Of course, my lord.” 

Sir Pellinore gave him an odd “what are you doing, the king’s insane!” sort of look, but both knights knew better than to cross Uther. If they did, it would be unlikely they would leave the castle as free men. 

It was safest, they thought, to simply leave the king be. What harm could an old man do? 

* * *

Clouds crowded the sky as the party of knights journeyed through the forest, letting darkness set in even before the sun met the horizon. The air had gone dry and frigid, so much so that Merlin’s breath became ice as it came from his mouth. 

Still, they urged their horses on until they reached the base of the White Mountains.

“A sight for sore eyes,” Will had said, looking up at the peaks. 

Merlin nodded, but said nothing. 

That night, the storm started. 

Wind howled as snow was blown from all directions. They set up camp at the base of a mountain, at the end of the range. 

It had been a good idea at the time, sure. But now they were stuck there, on the border of Cenred’s lands, in the middle of a snowstorm with nowhere to go and a good chance that the king would cut off their heads if he found them. 

Not to mention, of course, Merlin was still hearing voices in his dreams. 

This time, they were female, ancient and foreboding. They gave him vague advice and warnings, though it was no more useful than what that damned dragon of his father’s had told him as a child:  _ Lakes that have been polluted cannot prosper; a lie cannot be untold.  _

The voices warned him of what was to come if he wasn’t able to find his father, if Castilian stayed in power for too long. And he knew what needed to be done, he knew what responsibilities lay on his shoulders, how so many people were relying on him to set everything right. 

Something about the task just felt…  _ unattainable _ , as if he was reaching out in the darkness with no light and no guide. There was simply no way he saw that it could be done. 

But then, why was he leading the knights? How could he take charge of these men while he knew he was leading them to their doom? 

“Merlin?” 

Arthur was not the person he wanted to talk to. Least of all now.

“ _ Merlin _ ?”

Merlin opened the flap of his tent, albeit begrudgingly. He invited his friend inside, poking the fire as the other sat down. 

“Is there something you need?” he asked. The words came out more harsh than he had intended. 

Arthur didn’t answer at first. He stared at the fire, eyes distant. “Can… can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Merlin answered, trying to determine how much of the truth he could risk telling. “Anything.” 

“Ocrisa… you never did join the Purge, did you?” 

The question was blunt, as was Arthur’s expression.

“No,” Merlin confirmed. “I was too young to remember it, but for much of my childhood I remember almost facing war because of it.”  _ And because of my magic,  _ he thought. 

“I fear my father hopes he can make an ally out of your kingdom, once yours has taken the crown. He thinks you will owe Camelot a debt because of what I’m doing now.” 

“And do you believe him?” Merlin thought it odd that they could now talk to each other as equals. He was free to counteract any point that Arthur made, and now, especially, any threat he gave could have real, extreme consequences. He had to tread carefully. 

“I don’t know.” Arthur’s reply was distant. 

Merlin stared into the fire. The flames danced low before his eyes. He did not know what he could risk saying to Arthur, lest he side with Uther over his friend. It was a careful dance he did as the two princes stared into the endless flames, growing apart from destiny as every silent second passed. 

* * *

_ The world is turning white,  _ Arthur thought,  _ And I am surely going insane.  _

It had all started, he supposed, when Leon told him of the magic that Merlin supposedly possessed. At the time, he had seen it as pure insanity, gossip among those forced together for so long. But Leon was never one to gossip. The knight was honor-bound, he lived by the knights’ code, just as Arthur did, and was always chivalrous in his duties. 

The idea seemed less and less preposterous as the day went on. Merlin was as distant as ever, though Arthur noticed more of the odd looks he shared with the other knights of Ocrisa, ones that told more than a simple glance. 

It was after that when he realized Merlin’s friend - Will, he was called - was acting even stranger. Was it possible that he could be a sorcerer too? Hell, the whole lot of them could be sorcerers, for all Arther knew. 

_ There could be no Ocrisa at all,  _ Arthur speculated.  _ We could be walking right into the most extravagant trap of all time.  _

He dismissed that thought moments later. His father had confirmed the existence of a small kingdom known as Ocrisa to him before they set out on their journey, revealing what he knew of the kingdom’s history. 

_ It is one of the oldest lands in all of Albion. _ Uther's voice burned in his head as they made camp at the base of a mountain. They would be in Cenred’s lands soon. 

_ They say that the first king made a pact with the dragons, and all of her kings since have been able to control them with nothing more than their voices.  _

Arthur trudged through the snow, thoughts racing as he approached Merlin’s tent. 

“Merlin?”

No answer. 

_ Though not all of Ocrisa’s kings have been sorcerers, the gift of controlling the dragons is too close to magic to be left in the hands of the weak-willed.  _

“ _ Merlin? _ ” 

The flap to the black-haired boy’s tent opened. Arthur gladly welcomed himself inside. Merlin poked the fire absentmindedly, almost as if he was trying to ignore his friend. 

“Is there something you need?” he asked. 

Arthur focused on the fire. 

_ I do not trust Queen Hunith, nor do I trust her son. And neither should you, Arthur.  _

“Can… can I ask you a question?” 

“Sure,” Merlin answered. “Anything.” 

_ I knew if from the moment I received Balinor’s letter almost twenty five years ago. Ocrisa is a land of magic. We cannot let them continue to exist as they do.  _

“Ocrisa… you never did join the Purge, did you?” The question felt wrong on Arthur’s lips, even as he was saying it. It felt like invading Merlin’s privacy, asking about the laws of his kingdom. 

“No,” Merlin paused, searching for words. “I was too young to remember it, but for much of my childhood I remember almost facing war because of it.” 

_ I tried to wage war against Balinor for many years - I thought that, maybe, the joint might of Camelot and her allies could force him to comply, so that the evils of sorcery might finally be gone from this world.  _

_ You shall do your best, Arthur, to rid sorcery from this world. The line of Ambrosius cannot be allowed to regain the throne of Ocrisa.  _

He had sworn to do whatever he could to free the world from evil. From magic. Did that mean he had to kill his friend to do it? 

It was obvious that he could tell Merlin none of this. How could he? 

To sacrifice their once-in-a-lifetime friendship, and for what, orders? 

Arthur thought it best to lie instead. 

“I fear my father hopes he can make an ally out of your kingdom, once yours has taken the crown. He thinks you will owe Camelot a debt because of what I’m doing now.”

“And do you believe him?” 

He had noticed it before. It was subtle, the way Merlin encouraged him to step away from his father, pursue his own path in life. 

“I don’t know.” It was almost a whisper, the way he answered. Arthur truly did not know. He was torn between two worlds, two ideals. One, his kin and kingdom. The other, his friend and future. 

All the while, the voice in the back of his head echoed the words of his father.

_ You shall make sure no one but you and your knights survive the battle for Ocrisa’s soul, so that we remain victorious in our war against magic.  _

* * *

_ Slavers.  _

The word stayed in Gwen’s head for the rest of the day, like it was stuck to the inside of her soul. What would happen if they were caught?  _ Would  _ they be caught? Could Freya and Morgana risk using magic to fight them off?

_ We’re nearing the White Mountains,  _ she warned her companions. Gwen still thought it odd that people with magic were able to think into each other's' minds, though the skill had proved useful after Freya taught her the basics. 

They had spent almost a day and a half tailing the slavers through Camelot, with no more protection than Morgana’s hastily-chanted spell that could lose its effect at any moment. Now, though, they were nearing Camelot’s border with Essetir, meaning Uther’s men - if they were indeed searching for Morgana, as the girls had theorized - would no longer be able to find them. 

The small sense of safety created by the absence of Camelot’s army was then quickly consumed by a much larger fear once Gwen had realized they were walking blindly into Cenred’s kingdom, who both despised anything to do with the Pendragons and with magic. 

_ Gods,  _ Freya smiled up at the distant mountains, which were rapidly becoming closer as they pushed their horses on.  _ The clouds just go… around them. It’s as if they touch the sky.  _

_ Indeed,  _ Gwen agreed. 

Suddenly, Morgana pulled sharply on her own horse’s reins. Gwen and Freya soon followed. The Lady was at the front, because she was the one who had cast a tracking spell over the slavers as they returned to their garrison. It was only through her that they knew where their targets were. 

“They think they’re being followed,” Morgana warned, aloud. They were following from a good distance away (as not to arouse suspicion), but one could never be too careful when dealing with criminals. “ _ Bedíglaþ ús fram þā menn _ .” 

The spell had no effect on Gwen, nor did she see it have an effect on Freya or Morgana.

_ What’s the point of doing spells that have no effect?  _ Gwen wondered, desperately hoping her friends could not hear her thoughts.  _ Is all magic but just a show of prowess?  _

Regardless, she kept one hand on the sword strapped to her waist. One could never be too careful in the Forest of Essetir. 

Hours upon, minutes passed of simple waiting. The most menial of tasks. If she were still in the palace, she would visit Merlin in Arthur’s chambers or see if Gaius had deliveries that needed to be made, but no longer. 

Merlin, to her, had never really seemed like royalty. He was quiet, soft spoken, and surprisingly witty for one whose job was to clean up after Arthur the entire day. Not even she, one of Merlin’s closest friends, had suspected him. 

Gwen looked once again to her friends at her side. She had no way of predicting what could happen if any part of their hastily-built plan would go right, or if they would even live to see the sunrise. It felt right, to be fighting for what was right rather than sitting in one of Camelot’s stuffy towers. 

Whatever happened, Gwen wanted to embrace life outside of Camelot, with her friends by her side, wherever the road would take them. 

* * *

The forest had been quiet for hours as they rode along. Morgana reviewed more spells in her head, seeing it more than a menial job to pass the time. She enjoyed doing magic, feeling the power rush from her body as the world changed at her word. It was a wonder she did not know of her abilities before. 

_ “We’ll stop just shy of that ridge and make camp for the night.”  _

She sighed. The slavers were on the move again. 

_ “Why?”  _ another asked. 

Though she could not see their movements, Morgana assumed one of them was pointing to the sky as he spoke. 

_ “Storm’s coming in from the west. Traveling’s gonna be impossible if we go just ourselves, but with the cargo…”  _

There was a sound of metal against metal, a hollow  _ clang  _ that Morgana could hear without her magic. Someone shrieked. Birds flew into the sky at the noise. It was obvious the slavers had people in that cage. 

Morgana looked to Freya. The druid girl sat frozen in her saddle. Her breathing was becoming intense. Though she had little medical training, Morgana knew that she needed to help her friend. 

She looked to Gwen. They exchanged glances and set about tying up their horses and supporting Freya. They knew she would likely not want to talk about her experiences - she would when she was ready - but they wanted to make her comfortable regardless. 

“I’ll get some firewood,” Gwen suggested, looping her sword around her waist. (Morgana was still unsure of how she tricked her father into letting her take a weapon for each of them when they left). 

_ Freya?  _ Morgana reached out with her mind.  _ Freya, can you hear me?  _

The other girl didn’t reply. 

_ I know you’re not ready to talk about what you went through,  _ Morgana projected her thoughts into her friend’s head, though, even then, she wasn’t sure that Freya could hear her.  _ But I want you to know that I will always be here for you, as will Gwen, if you ever feel like you need to talk to us about anything. We care about you, we want to see you happy. Remember that, Freya, please.  _

At some point during her silent vigil, Morgana must have fallen asleep. Though she was plagued by no dreams or visions, it was a restless, troubled sleep. There was too much danger ahead, too much danger around them. 

_ And there is no going back, Morgana Pendragon.  _

Voices. There were people in her head, but not in her dreams. Were they friends, foes? What business did they have invading her skull at night? 

And why did they call her Pendragon? 

“My lady? Morgana?” 

Gwen’s gentle voice shook her awake. It was just past dawn, the first rays of morning seeping over a snow-covered horizon. 

She steadied herself as she rose, seeing Freya tend to her horse in the distance. 

“You’re alright,” she observed, greeting her friend bluntly. 

“I’m sorry,” Freya apologised, refusing to meet Morgana’s eyeline. “They.. the slavers just…” she paused, searching for words to express her frustrations. “They brought up some memories that I’d rather forget.” 

“There’s no need to be sorry for anything. You should take the time that you need to make sure you’re alright. Gwen and I can manage everything for a while.” 

“Thank you, but no, my lady.” Freya tightened the straps on her saddle her movements stark in her anger. “I want to make sure that you and Gwen trust me, even though I can’t be as open as you two are with me.” She offered a hand to Morgana. “And I want to start by making those bastards pay for what they’ve done to me, and to countless others.” 

Morgana took the hand, assuring her fellow witch that they would ride into battle together. 

There were little preparations to make, save for sharpening swords and the practicing of spellwork. Soon, they began to ride towards the slavers’ camp. 

They knew not whether the spells Morgana had cast in the days prior still had any effect on their targets, but they carried on regardless. Whatever stop or challenge the gods set upon them, they believed that, together, nothing could be done to stop them. 

_ Their camp is just up ahead,  _ Morgana warned through her thoughts.  _ Be ready to strike at a moment’s notice.  _

She then made eye contact with Freya, and the two dismounted, followed shortly by Gwen. The maid gripped her sword tight in her hand, brown eyes burning with zeal. 

Freya held out a hand up ahead, making her companions stop in their tracks. She then motioned below them, to the underside of a ridge, where they could see smoke marking the presence of a long-dead fire. 

They heard voices, too. Rough, deep, almost too manly voices joking, talking, and eating. It was almost too easy. 

Freya nodded to the other two once again, and Morgana summoned her magic. 

“ _ Forbærne yfel!”  _ she shouted, a ring of fire surrounding the slavers. 

The three jumped into action, descending the small cliff and beginning to cut through slavers with their swords. 

Morgana made quick work of the first one, though a second one surprised her from behind. She used her magic to impale him with his friend’s sword, though not before she made a nasty gash across her thigh with her own. 

Around her, for a short time, it seemed as if they were winning the battle. Four, five, of the criminals were dead, and all three of them were still standing. As she made her way towards her next opponent, Morgana saw Gwen and Freya pushed back to back by their foes. Before she could throw the slavers back, though, they had managed to fight off both of the burly mean with some manner of skill. 

It was then that a hush fell around them in the forest. Nothing was moving, all was quiet. Morgana suddenly felt very, very tired. As she looked around, she saw one of the slavers standing over the bodies of his comrades, a glowing gemstone in his hand. 

And then there was nothing but darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably won't update for a while (again), but I wanted to get in some writing time while I'm on school break, and so here I am. 
> 
> Points to anyone who can either complete the quote from the chapter title or tell me where it's from!
> 
> \- Mags


	12. Chapter 11 - Inter Spem et Metum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning before we begin: This update does contain a character having a dissociatve episode (from another character's perspective) and minimal language surrounding PTSD. Thanks!

_ Blood. _

_ A flash of light. _

_ Swords clashed around her, though Morgana could hear only the sounds of the battle. It was as if she had become blind to the world. _

_ Except for one man, sitting at the edge of her vision. _

_ He was aging, clearly, as shown by the grey streaks riddled through his mane of dark brown hair. His beard was long as well. Perhaps he was a hermit. _

_ No, she chided herself. The man was carrying too many weapons to be a hermit. That is, the man was carrying weapons in the first place. Morgana studied the man’s face for a moment. There was something familiar about how he looked, determination stark in his dark eyes. _

_ Then the realization hit. _

_ This was the man she saw in her dream, before she had left Camelot. This was the one who drove his sword into the earth after enchanting it, who summoned a flying beast with the strength of his spell. _

_ The man turned to her now, eyes now hauntingly white. _

_ “I have been waiting for you, Morgana.” _

_ As he spoke, it was clear that his voice was not his own. It came out feminine, echoing throughout the dream-world as if three people were talking. The words swirled around her, awakening the magic deep inside. _

_ She could feel her power react to this being’s speech, lying shallow beneath the surface beneath her skin. This was nothing like before - her magic was flowing freely without fear or consequence. Who was powerful enough to trigger something like this? _

_ “Who are you?” she asked. Her voice was soft, hollow. Almost weak. _

_ “I am what created this world,” the man rushed towards her, the voices echoing hauntingly. “What keeps it alive,” another voice - clearer, this time - came from behind her. She turned, and the man was standing in two places at once. This twin, however, was much younger than the man in her dream. “And what shall destroy it.” _

_ Morgana’s eyes widened as she realized who was talking to her. Remembering what little of the Old Ways she was taught, she kneeled on the ground and averted her eyes; the true form of a god was dangerous. _

_“_Mín Gydenu_, forgive me, I-”_

_ “Hush, my child,”a third voice became clear, forming out of the infinite echo. A third version of the man spoke, this one dressed in finery and riches. “We must keep faith and hang our heads high.” _

_ “My Goddess, I... I don’t understand.” _

_ A hand was extended to her by the first man. Tentatively, she took it. “Time is of the essence, child,” the voices warned, “Destiny swirls around us, unclear as the stars on a cloudy night. You must act quickly, for Fate itself lies in the balance…” _

* * *

And just like that, Morgana awakened.

She didn’t remember, at first, what had happened that day in the forest. Her surroundings reached her senses in a blur, as disorienting as the dream that had come before. Everything that happened came back at once, just as she felt the chains around her wrists and ankles.

Freya and Gwen were sitting against a wall, deep in conversation as she awoke. She made eye contact with Gwen as the latter realized she was no longer asleep.

“My lady, are you alright?”

Morgana tried her best to stand, but was met with a sharp, stabbing pain in her thigh. 

“You were wounded in the fight,” Gwen explained. “We’ve done the best we can, but Freya would need some supplies, and-”

“It’s okay. I appreciate it.” 

Freya opened her mouth to respond, but was stopped as the sound of soldiers made its way to their ears. A number of men rounded a corner, assembling into a sort of precession as they made their way to the girls’ shared cell.

The leader, a foul man with missing teeth and a stench like horse dung, approached the cell first. “Welcome, ladies. I hope the accommodations have been… up to your standards?”

“Go to hell,” Morgana spat. 

The slaver kneeled down, tipping up her chin with his finger. “Wise words from a girl in chains.” 

If not for her worries about her friends, Morgana would have cursed his manhood into oblivion right then and there. _ What a pig. _They stared at each other for a moment, likely until the slaver realized she was neither going to talk nor curse him (no matter how much she would have liked to). 

Finally, the man stood up again. “You’ll all fetch me good prices in the market before long,” he warned them. “Or maybe Daddy will pay your ransom and you girlies can go home free.” 

Morgana scoffed. “My father’s dead, you moron. I doubt even the king of Camelot would pay my ransom.” 

To her surprise, the man simply winked. “That can be arranged.” 

It was not a moment later that the man left, taking his entourage of guards and mercenaries with him. At last, they were alone. 

“Are you two alright?” Morgana asked her companions. The intrusion of the man had cut their conversation short and she worried that Gwen put her lady’s health above her own and Freya’s. 

“Mostly,” Gwen replied, voice quiet. She looked over at Freya, who seemed decidedly worse. The druid girl was staring off into the distance, eyes unfocused. Whatever she was thinking, her mind was far from her friends. 

“She’s been like this since we got here,” Gwen explained. “The memories… it’s - it’s not good for her.” 

Morgana nodded grimly. “I can tell.” She looked around, searching for any stray guards. “We need to get out of here.” 

Someone laughed from the other end of the cell block. It was the laugh of one who had no other pleasure in life; the laugh of a man defeated. The sound bounced off the walls, creating a spiral of sound that would have driven even the most rational of people insane. 

“Who are you? What do you want?”

The man simply laughed again. “No one escapes from here, girl. You would have to be an idiot to try.” 

“Answer my question!” Morgana demanded. 

The man laughed again. “I am one who has seen the true nature of this world.”

In her frustration, Morgana slammed her fist against the bars of her cell. Her magic, enhanced by her vision of the Goddess, reacted, creating a gust of wind so strong she almost fell over. 

The cell block grew eerily quiet. 

“A sorceress, then?” 

“And?”

Another infuriating chuckle. “Urien’s been hunting for sorcerers for months. I’d hide that pretty little talent if I were you.” 

Urien - their captor - was hunting sorcerers? Why? Was it at Uther’s orders? Morgana shivered at the thought of Uther conspiring with such a disgusting man but found that she was not surprised by the idea. 

“He’s collecting sorcerers, why?”

No answer came from the mysterious man. 

She turned back to Gwen, who was still holding Freya in her arms. “If this man - Urien - is collecting sorcerers, then he must be taking them somewhere.” 

“Or he could just be killing them,” Gwen countered. “Plenty of bounty hunters bring druids and sorcerers to the king for money.” 

“If he was going to turn us over to Uther, wouldn't we be on our way back to Camelot right now?” 

“I don’t know.” 

The beats of marching soldiers were once again heard as two patrolling guards made their way through the dungeons, but their leader was nowhere in sight. What little light there was bounced off the metal of their swords, making them glow bronze in the light of the setting sun. 

_ How’s Freya? _Morgana thought, not wanting to get in trouble with the guards. 

_ I don’t know, _ came Gwen’s response. _ If any of us need to get out of here, it’s her. _

They nodded at each other, a plan forming in their heads. 

Morgana shifted the best she could in her chains, placing one hand on Freya’s forehead and the other in her right hand. She formed the incantation in her mind, hoping with all the hope in her heart that she could be able to reach her friend who had trapped herself inside her own mind. 

_ “ _ _ Belǣdaþ frēode hire bréostgeþance.” _

She felt the magic flow between them, though Freya’s demeanor did not change. The two sat in silence in the following moments, the sounds of the blossoming night emerging around them. 

_ Morgana? _

Freya’s voice was hoarse, like she had been screaming for hours on end. 

_ I’m here, Freya. _

_ They’re coming after me again… I just… I couldn’t... _

“Everything is fine,” Morgana told her, squeezing the other girl’s hand tight in comfort. “Gwen and I have a plan, you’re safe with us, they can’t hurt you.” 

Freya took a deep breath, holding it in as she closed her eyes. She let it out a moment later, looking to her friends with a newfound passion. “Thank you, both of you.” 

“We will always stand by you,” Gwen told her, grabbing her other hand. “I- I wanted you to know that.” 

Freya gave her friend’s hand a small squeeze. “Of course, as I would do the same for you.” She turned to Morgana, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Now, how do you suppose we get out of here?” 

* * *

Winds howled all around as rain, which had hours past been a barrage of heavy snow, relentlessly pounded the flaps of the tent. Inside, a company of knights waited for their prince to speak, faces painted with quiet apprehension. 

Arthur stood at the head of their tiny circle, with all of his knights sitting around him. Leon stood to his right, a gentle guide who had stood by his side for as long as the prince could remember. 

“I suppose you all must be wondering why you have been called here today,” he began. A couple of them nodded in response - Sir Lanval and Sir Pellias, who had served since Arthur was five-and-ten. “And I am here today to say something that you probably would have been better off knowing, for a time.” 

Sir Bedivere muttered something to Sir Kay, but he chose to ignore it. 

“The truth is that the king gave me orders and information regarding the fate of the noble House of Ambrosius that, up until these last few days, I thought to be absurd.” When no one posed any more questions, he continued. “The orders given to me by the king were this: all Ocrisans who have or are suspected to have magic must be killed, in the name of Camelot and Albion. This list, due to recent developments, now includes Prince Merlin. So, now I ask all of you, noble knights of Camelot: What are we to do?”

The knights stared at him in silence for what felt like an eternity. 

Sir Gareth was the first to speak up. 

“If I may, sire,” he began. “I wish to voice my opinion on the matter.” Arthur nodded, sitting down and letting Gareth take the floor. Gareth looked around at his peers, as if he were trying to see into their very souls. “We all are knights of Camelot, are we not?” 

The knight’s remarks were met with a series of nods and mutterings. 

“And, as knights of this sacred order, we have taken a vow to protect our citizens from any evils, including the evils of magic and sorcery, and I believe that we must do this, live up to our vows and duty to our kingdom, no matter what the cost.” 

“But they’re of noble birth - royalty!” Sir Moriaen objected. 

There was determination in Gareth’s eyes as he spoke. “That- that is the most dangerous thing about them. A leader who embraces magic will lead his people towards such evils, and that is something - as protectors of Camelot and scourges of magic - that we cannot allow.” 

Sir Gareth finished his speech, surveying their small gathering with a look of satisfaction on his face. He nodded to Arthur and took his seat next to Sir Kay. 

Arthur stood once more, regarding his brothers-in-arms, all of whom looked deep in thought. He looked to Sir Leon, the ginger knight the only one not seemingly contemplating regicide. 

“What say you, Leon?” 

“My lord, if I were to be so bold…” Leon led him away from the assembly of knights and out of the tent, where the last drizzles of rain were falling. When he was sure that they could not be overheard, he spoke again. “I don’t think this is a good idea, sire.” 

“Hm?” 

“How long has Merlin been your friend, and now you want to kill him because your father said so? It just doesn’t add up…sire,” he added the last bit hastily, as if he forgot he was speaking to the future king of Camelot. 

“This isn’t just about Merlin, Leon. This is about doing what’s best for the kingdom and helping those we swore to protect.” 

“By killing more? Sire, forgive me, but do you _ hear _yourself?”

“You were the one who told me that Merlin had magic in the first place!” Arthur had to restrain himself from shouting. “Are you going to tell me that that doesn’t matter anymore?” 

“I am _ trying _ to tell you that this all seems too suspicious!” Leon also seemed to be restraining himself, but with less success. “Don’t they all seem a bit too happy about killing a king and his son?” 

“They are _ sorcerers _.” 

“Merlin is your friend.” 

“He was,” Arthur muttered darkly. “Before he lied to me.” 

“Sire, with all due respect, Merlin’s been lying since the day he arrived in Camelot. For his own safety.” 

“And you question why I’m having trouble trusting him.” Arthur let out an exasperated sigh, resisting the urge to pinch his nose like a tired mother. 

“Your Highness?” Sir Lanval poked his head through the canvas of the tent. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, yes, everything is fine. Thank you, Lanval.” He looked back to Leon. “I think it is time that we return.” 

Leon nodded and led him inside, standing at Arthur’s right as he addressed his knights yet again. 

“Well?” Arthur asked, speaking to no one in particular. “Have we reached a consensus?”

Sir Bedivere stood. (Out of all of the knights, Arthur did not suspect him.) “Indeed we have, sire.” 

“And?”

“For the good of Albion, Prince Merlin must die.” 

* * *

Merlin felt like he was dying. 

Not that he was drowning, or suffocating, or bleeding out, but that he was _ alone _. All around, people looked to him like they expected something of him, like there was something more he wasn’t doing. 

Everything was swirling around in his head, spurred on by the haunting voice of Lord Castilian that tormented him for seemingly no reason. His thoughts kept him up late into the nights as they waited out the storm, the winds, rains, and snows his only companions. Merlin felt like he was reaching out for an answer that was just a little too far away. 

It was one of these nights that Merlin heard someone cry out in the mountains, a scream that echoed in the deepest parts of his soul. 

Though he had disregarded the sound at first, thinking it to be a fox or some other animal of the night, Merlin could no longer deny that there was someone out there, screaming and begging for help. 

Grabbing his sword, Merlin climbed out of his tent and looked around the empty camp, seeing nothing but the embers of old campfires and various other tents. Slowly, he strapped his sword belt around his waist, keeping a hand on the weapon’s pommel. 

He crept forward toward the edge of their camp. Though he was sure that he was being silent, he couldn’t help but cringe when a twig broke under his foot, the resonating crack like an explosion in the night. 

“Out for a stroll in the moonlight, are we, Merlin?”

Merlin whirled around, his sword half-drawn. In the middle of their campsite he saw Arthur, who looked possibly more tired than he did. 

“Arthur?”

The blond prince nodded. “Couldn’t sleep?” 

“I heard something - a scream.” 

“You do know what sounds foxes make, right?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. _ “Yes.” _

Another cry came through the trees, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Merlin turned back towards the forest, exchanging a worried look with Arthur. 

“A fox, was it?” 

“Shut up, Merlin.” 

The pair found themselves wandering through the forest, with nothing but the moonlight as their guide, looking for whoever had made the haunting cries. They crept along the base of the mountain, following a stream flowing through the mountain range and eventually seeing a small pond at the base of the tallest of the White Mountains. 

_ Hello? Someone? Anyone? Please, someone help me! _

Merlin gave a small start as he heard the voice in his mind. 

And another one as he realized who was speaking. 

_ Freya? _

_ Merlin! Thank the gods! _

He took a few steps downhill, incanting a spell in his mind to strengthen his eyes. Within seconds, the whole forest was lit up, clear as day, even as the moon shown overhead. There was a strange feeling to the place as the magic changed Merlin’s vision, like a weight was being lifted from his stomach. 

_ Where are you? _

No answer. 

Merlin gripped his ring, twisting it between his fingers. He remembered the moment they shared together in her chambers after his mother appeared. _ I almost lost you once, _ he thought solemnly. _ And I will be damned if I lose you again. _

Turning, he watched as Arthur, who was by far the better hunter of the two, surveyed the lakeside with a keen eye. 

“There’s no tracks.” 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Even I can see that.” 

The sound of snapping twigs reached Merlin’s ears, making him turn once again and face the valley below the mountain. 

Arthur’s interest also seemed to be piqued, as the blond appeared at his side, almost like a ghost, silently surveying the ground. 

They both seemed to spot the same thing at the same time - a dark figure, staggering through the woods like they had been running all night and all day. Both princes ran into action, making their way down the hill and searching the wood. 

It took a little while before Merlin realized that the two had become separated, that he was now all alone. Slowly, he took a deep breath and tried to reach out with his thoughts. 

_ Freya? _

Nothing. 

A whistle wafted through the trees. Merlin turned towards the sound, seeing Arthur holding up a hand, a single finger at his lips. The gesture likely meant _ Be quiet! _ but Merlin imagined Arthur’s tone was more along the lines of _ Be quiet, you blundering fool. _

He nodded in return, drawing his sword. Together, they crept downward into the valley. 

_ Merlin? _

He couldn’t help but flinch as her thoughts reached his own. She was so… close. He could feel it. 

_ Where are you? _At least, this time, she’d probably respond, he figured. 

_ At the base of the hill. My ankle - I can’t walk on it. _

_ We’re almost there, _Merlin assured her. 

She ended their connection, and he felt her presence leave his mind. 

He signaled to Arthur and they convened at the base of the mountain, overlooking a river that flowed through the valley. Merlin scanned the trees again, but there was no sign of his love. 

Then, he spotted something in the trees. It looked like an injured animal, limping slowly through the underbrush, trying its best to move in despite its injuries. 

Arthur must have spotted the anomaly too, for they moved swiftly through the forest until they were practically on top of the unsuspecting thing, until Merlin had the rather sensible idea (in his mind, anyway) to reach out to Freya yet again. 

Arthur protested as he closed his eyes, though he didn’t really mind. _ Freya? _

The figure turned, making eye contact with him just as Merlin opened his eyes. 

“Freya!” he exclaimed, almost tripping over a stray root as he made his way over to her. When he got there, he realized that she was cradling her leg with both arms, cuts all along her flesh. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Fine,” she smiled, though she was not clearly fine. Freya nodded to Arthur as he approached, no doubt almost exploding with questions. “I’ll explain everything later, I just need to find something to make a brace for my ankle.” She gestured to the limb in question, which was attached to her foot at a decidedly odd angle. 

“We can carry you back to our camp,” Arthur offered. 

Merlin shot him a look along the lines of _ I’ll carry her back to camp _. 

Nevertheless, the blond nodded, and they set back towards the knight’s encampment. 

Freya smiled as Merlin picked her up, holding her as if she were his newlywed bride. 

* * *

Two riders sat on horseback, looking down from the mountains as a campaign of knights went about their business packing up tents and tending to horses. 

The one on the left grumbled something in his native tongue, turning to his companion with a bored expression on his face. “He’s not there.” 

“He will be,” the other responded. “If I’m right - and I always am - he will be.” 

“Tòmas-” 

“Heard you the first time, northman.” Tòmas took the reins of his horse, turning back to the camp in the mountains that the two shared. 

“The king will have _ our _ heads if we return empty-handed,” the other warned, his expression turning grim. “And I still don’t think he’ll show.” 

Tòmas sighed, resigning himself to his companion’s idiocy as the two rode higher into the White Mountains. Whether or not they would find King Balinor he did not know, but his wife and son seemed to be a pretty good place to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. It. Has. Been. Forever. 
> 
> Like, I was physically in school the last time I updated. 
> 
> Thank you all for all of the kudos and amazing comments (keep them coming - they're my lifeforce)! 
> 
> The chapter title is a Latin phrase that means "between hope and fear," if anyone was wondering. 
> 
> Stay safe and healthy!
> 
> -Mags


	13. Chapter 12 - Salad Days (Part 1)

Merlin was trying to contain his glee as the three of them made their way back to camp. The route was decidedly more difficult to traverse now that they were traveling uphill, but not once did he feel his strength begin to falter. 

It was because, he decided, as they were making their way back, that Freya was his strength, whether she knew it or not. His magic always seemed to be stronger when he did spells for her, and the rush that he felt when they did the occasional spell together was like nothing else that he could describe. 

She looked up at him as they trudged onward, a loving look in her deep brown eyes. It looked as if she was trying to tell him something through the look, though he knew not what. 

_ Yes? _

His thoughts reached Freya’s mind with no trouble. 

_ What? _was all she said, giving him a quizzical look. 

_ Is there something you wish for me to know? Why not say it out loud? _

_ Some thoughts, my love, are more decent when they remain in one’s head. _

She gave him a small wink, and Merlin could feel his cheeks reddening. He hastily looked back at Arthur, who was making his way without a care in the world. 

The sun began to rise as they continued back to camp, bathing the side of the mountain range in its glow. He felt its heat on his back as he kept walking, bringing warmth to the night that had previously been filled with cold. Merlin imagined that his mother would be quite worried about him by now - they’d been gone for a couple of hours. 

The heat of the sun warmed his back as they continued up the mountain, framing half of Freya’s face in a pool of light. She smiled as the warmth hit her face, making Merlin’s heart sing. 

“Alright up there, Merlin?” Arthur shouted, a ways below them. 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “We need to follow the stream back to camp!” he shouted, eyes following the small creek as it flowed downhill, tracing it to its origin upstream. 

“We should wait for him,” Freya said, eyes moving back and forth between Merlin and Arthur. Merlin wondered if she sensed the rift that was forming between them. 

“He’ll catch up,” he replied coldly, turning and starting uphill again. 

“Merlin, put me down. We need to talk.” 

Merlin sighed, looking down at his beloved. Then, he projected his thoughts into her mind once again. _ I do not believe this is an issue we can talk about freely. Not now. _

_ Why not? _

_ It is… delicate, to say the least. Something happened, and it was my fault. I just… hope you can forgive me. _

_ Forgive you? Merlin, whatever happened that I would need to forgive you for? _

_ Later. I promise, love, later. _

“How does your ankle feel?” he asked out loud, both to try and change the topic of conversation and to try and include Arthur in it. 

Freya simply glared at him, but nonetheless answered. “I don’t know if I can walk on it.” 

“Where does it hurt most?” Merlin kneeled down next to her, taking her foot in his hand. Tentatively, he pressed his pointer and middle fingers down over the joint - the part where the foot met the leg. 

Freya winced when he came to a space just above the heel. “There - that’s where it hurts.” 

He could sense Arthur approaching from behind. It was an odd feeling, that. Like he was about to be attacked and he had no way of defending himself. 

“It’s probably a sprain, then,” Merlin figured. “I’ll have Merek look at it when we get back to camp.” 

She nodded, and he took her up in his arms again. 

They continued upwards for what felt like an eternity. The sun’s warmth was beginning to feel less and less welcoming with every minute that passed, making Merlin feel like his jacket was about to catch on fire. 

No more attempts at conversation were made as the three came to the crest of the small hill that Arthur and Merlin had traversed the night before. This walk felt different somehow to the previous one, though Merlin couldn’t figure why. It certainly felt like much more walking, and they were indeed going uphill, but there was a feeling about it that he couldn’t quite place - one that made him feel as if they were all in danger. 

Finally, _ finally _, he could see their tents in the valley below. 

Once again, Merlin dared to share his thoughts with Freya. _ We’re almost there. _

_ Good, _ Freya responded, a small smile tugging at her lips. _ Then let’s go. _

* * *

The next few hours passed in a bit of a haze as Arthur and Merlin were welcomed back into camp, calming the nerves of the most agitated knights and those of Queen Hunith, who promptly dragged her son away to scold him for running off in the night. 

Leon stayed close by as one of Merlin’s knights - Maverick, Arthur thought - checked him for wounds, before moving on to his own prince and Freya, the servant girl they’d found in the forest. 

The presence of his first knight always brought Arthur comfort. It meant that there was someone with him who understood his struggles and could be there through hard times. 

That person used to be Merlin. It was _ supposed _ to be Merlin.

Merlin, his friend, his servant, his closest confidant. He was a liar that whole time. 

A liar and a thrice-damned sorcerer. 

Arthur couldn’t figure out which one was worse. 

Anger had been building up inside him ever since the day Queen Hunith appeared at court. So many questions ran through his head in the days following, but there was one common thread between them: Why? 

Why had Merlin hidden this from him? Why had Merlin come to Camelot in the first place? Why was it now _ Arthur’s _responsibility to protect a liar and his men and help sorcerers regain the throne? 

Why did he feel so conflicted about killing Merlin? 

It was his duty, his solemn vow to protect Camelot, her lands and her people, from all that threatened her. And no threat that he faced as the future king of Camelot was less than that of sorcery and magic. The people that his father had cast away, burned at the stake for their crimes were itching for revenge. He’d seen it a hundred times before. 

So what made Merlin any different? 

Why was he so desperate to see change in Arthur? Was it so that he could be a better king than his father when the time came? Uther was already ten times the king that any other ruler could be, let alone one whose mind has been corrupted by magic, as King Balinor’s was. 

Arthur chuckled to himself. He’d never even met the man and he already hated him. That must’ve been a record. 

Someone cleared their throat from behind him. When he looked, he saw Sir Kay standing near the entrance to Queen Hunith’s tent. From the outside, it looked like it held a great many people. “The girl, my lord,” he started. “She’s ready to talk.”

* * *

Freya took a deep breath. She was safe. She was happy. She was loved. 

Not so long those words sounded strange to her, almost alien. She would not have believed it possible that she could be happy after all she had faced, every person that had suffered because of her. 

Merlin made a small noise from beside her, jumping as he noticed a small bug on his hand. It flew away in an instant, though he was no doubt traumatized because of it. When he noticed her staring, he gave her a small smile, like the so many others they’d shared. 

Freya could still remember the first time she’d seen Merlin, the way he’d helped her when she’d been scared and alone. She could remember how he smiled when she ate the food he’d brought her, what their first kiss felt like. 

Sometimes, it felt like it was all a dream, like she was about to wake up and find herself in the middle of another massacre that she’d caused, or another bounty hunter tracking her down. 

But Merlin and Gaius were always there to guide her, show her the wonders of humanity that she’d been denied in her life as an outsider. To Freya, it had meant the world. To Gaius and Merlin, it was the least they could do. 

Yet there were still things she hadn’t told them. Even now, as she was once again running from captivity. Freya wasn’t ready for them to know everything about her cursed years. The people she’d seen, hurt, loved. The memories seemed too painful. 

Sometimes her deeds would come back to her at night. It was almost giddy, the way the universe liked to torture her. Freya was forced to watch her moments of greatest pain over and over again, with no power to change them. It all felt so real, so incredibly real, and yet she awoke each morning to find herself back in her healing body, surrounded by the people who loved and cared for her. 

And she was free. 

Utterly and completely free. 

No man or magic in the world could make her become a prisoner or a beast ever again, and that was a promise Freya intended on keeping. 

She returned the smile to Merlin. It was like watching a flower bloom, the way he reacted to her. And he was hers, every bit in every possible way. 

_ Everything okay? _

The presence of his thoughts were another comfort. Sometimes she needed to share things that no one else could overhear, and the discovery of the druidic magics was a welcome advantage at times like this. 

_ Fine, _ she thought. _ How’s your mother? _

Merlin looked away, a bashful look in his eye. _ I thought I’d never hear the end of it. _

_ That bad? _

_ And worse. _

Sir Merek nodded to them as he finished making the splint for Freya’s ankle. He exchanged a look with Merlin, bowing his head before collecting his things and leaving. 

Freya closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Images of her past flew before her, all too real and at the same time utterly imaginary. It was something that became a part of her over the years, just as her magic was. 

“I’m ready,” she said, looking straight ahead. 

* * *

“We rode out the afternoon after you all left Camelot,” Freya narrated. She was facing Sir Cassius, eyes steely and determined. “The- the Lady Morgana and I worried that you would get into trouble without us there.” 

“And so my father just let you go?” Arthur asked incredulously, outrage building slowly from within. There was a chip in his calm, noble facade.

“No. Lady Morgana told the king that she was going out for a ride, and that Gwen and I would be accompanying her. We did indeed ride out beyond the city, we just didn’t return.” 

From where he was sitting at Freya’s side, Merlin could see that Arthur was seething. It wasn’t often that he became so overtaken by anger that he was unable to think of anything but, but when it did happen, Merlin thought it more terrifying than half the creatures and rogue sorcerers he’d faced. 

“Surely the king would have sent someone after you, if Lady Morgana did not return.” This time it was Sir Leon who spoke. If he was indeed outraged as Arthur was, he was doing a damn good job of hiding it. 

“I don’t know,” Freya shrugged. Her hand crept into Merlin’s. She took another deep breath, closing her eyes as she inhaled. Merlin could feel her magic buzzing beneath her skin, how it cowered and shied away from the memories that Freya kept below the surface. 

Was there something she was still hiding from him? 

Hunith took her other hand, looking to her future daughter-in-law (not that Freya knew that, of course) with kind eyes. “Continue when you’re ready, dear.”

Freya nodded, going on. “It was after a couple days of riding that we found the body of a bandit in the forest. Mor- er, Lady Morgana found a seal of a noble house on it, though it didn’t look like it’d been stolen.” 

“Which house?” Merlin could tell that his mother was apprehensive about what the answer might’ve been, but the question had been asked with such vigor that it was obvious she already knew the answer. It was just about confirming her suspicions, her worst fears. 

“Castilian, my lady.” Freya’s voice was distant, almost a whisper. It was as if the word was poison to her. Merlin agreed.

Silence followed. He could see a look being shared between Arthur and Leon, but he knew he had to be there for Freya then. The others would come later, but Freya, she was his first priority. Forever and always. 

“We kept following the you all had left and eventually came upon a band of slavers traveling to the White Mountains.” Her hand tensed in his own as she continued. “I wanted to go after them. Buying and selling people's lives like that - those people are monsters.” 

A single thought passed from Freya’s mind into Merlin’s. _ And I wanted to make them pay for treating me like one. _

“We tried to fight them, but one of them had some sort of magic crystal. We all went down. When we woke up…” she trailed off, eyes glazing over. Whatever memories of that place she had, they weren’t good for her psyche. Merlin kept his hand firm in her own. He needed Freya to know that she was safe with him. The monsters inside her head could not hurt her. 

“Perhaps it is too painful.” Sir Gareth, another of Arthur’s knights, bowed his head as he spoke. “We could resume at a different time if she is not feeling up to i-” 

“We are _ not _ going anywhere,” Arthur growled. The cracks in his calmness were deepening as his anger grew, showing the boiling storm hidden away beneath. “Guinevere and Morgana are out in who-knows-where and we have but only hours until nightfall.” 

“I’m alright.” Freya’s voice was stronger this time. She looked between Arthur and Sir Gareth, though whether it was to scold them or prevent an argument, Merlin couldn’t tell. 

He shared a glance with her before she began speaking again. Merlin didn’t even need to hear her thoughts to know what she was going to say next. 

“There was something that happened to me, before I came to Camelot. A beast ravaged my… village for a time and eventually the creature’s actions were blamed on me. My family was dead, you see. The elders banished me, and I moved around a lot before a bounty hunter caught wind of me. Thought I was a sorceress.” Her words were bitter, almost detached. “The memories of my time in captivity are dark ones. Even now they still haunt me. I apologize for my hesitation earlier, my lords, it is simply that I have a hard time talking about these sorts of things. What happened next reminded me too much of my past experiences and I unfortunately spaced out for a time.” 

“Then how did you escape?” Arthur had grown more anxious in his worrying, that much was clear. 

“To be honest, my lord, I do not know. It was all Lady Morgana’s idea. She was able to manipulate one of the men guarding us and let me run free.” 

“Where were they holding you?” 

“A garrison or fortress of some kind, I think. It’s in or on the other side of the mountains.” 

“Thank you, Freya.” Arthur’s words could have been sarcastic or degrading, but Merlin knew that they were sincere. His friend was truly grateful to Freya for what she was able to tell them, and that they now had a chance to save Gwen and Morgana.

“You- you’re welcome, my lord,” Freya answered. She bowed her head slightly as Arthur left, followed soon after by Leon and Sir Gareth. Sir Cassius also departed, nodding to his queen and prince before stepping outside of the tent and into the afternoon air. 

Merlin’s feet shifted nervously under him. He looked over at Freya and his mother, both of whom were sitting in quiet, pensive thought. 

“There’s more,” Freya said out of the blue, tearing Hunith away from whatever other thoughts she had. “Things that I can’t tell Prince Arthur and his knights.” 

“What is it, dear?” Hunith’s reply was masking a head full of worry, Merlin knew his mother well enough to see that. 

“We- we told Gwen about our magic. Morgana and I, I mean.” 

She stood up and began pacing around as she spoke. 

“I showed her the druid’s mark on my arm…” Freya’s voice trailed off as she looked down to her arm, where the shreds of fabric that made up her dress were practically in shreds. A hint of the mark on her arm peeked through, though Merlin supposed it could be mistaken for a bruise or a birthmark. “And we used magic a number of times before we got captured, and Morgana had another premonition in her dreams.” 

“Did she say what about?” Dream-reading and divination were far from Merlin’s favorite branches of magic, but even the weakest sorcerer knew to heed the warnings of a seer. 

“Morgana said she saw Arthur’s death.”

That was, surprisingly, nothing new. If Merlin had one gold piece for every time he had heard ‘Arthur’ and ‘death’ in the same sentence since coming to Camelot, he’d be richer than all the kings of Albion combined. 

“The amount of times I’ve heard that before,” Merlin muttered. 

That remark earned him a slap upside the head from his mother. “Focus.” Hunith turned her eyes back to Freya and nodded for her to continue. 

“Like I told Arthur, I don’t remember much about what happened after we were captured, but there was one thing I didn’t say.” 

“What?” Merlin shifted again in his place, perpetually uncomfortable. 

“The slaver, the man who captured us - he hunts sorcerers.” 

* * *

The guard’s paces were even as they made their twilight rounds. Morgana felt the beginnings of a headache forming at the back of her head, the stress of keeping an illusion up for so long finally getting to her. 

She and Gwen had given Freya the opportunity to flee the night before, and Morgana had been maintaining the illusion of her presence through magic ever since. The spell had been slowly draining her magic throughout the day, bringing with it a whole new slew of problems: what if the spell failed? What if Urien found out she was a sorceress? 

The questions swimming through her head made her thoughts all the more muddled and her mind all the more tired, but Morgana knew she needed to stay awake. Neither she nor Gwen could take much more of this. 

They had to escape.

“My lady?” Gwen nudged her foot. 

Morgana rubbed her temples, keeping her eyes away from the two guards as they passed by their cell and rounded the corner. The illusion fell away the minute they were gone. “Yes, Gwen?” 

“Are you alright, my lady? You’ve been exhausting yourself all day and-” 

“_ Quiet!” _It was the man in the unseen cell again. His voice was strangely commanding, not like that of the broken, hollowed soul they knew him to be. 

Morgana scoffed, rolling her eyes. _ Crazy old coot. _

“I’m fine, Gwen. Thank you for your concern.” She expected another interjection from the man, but none came. 

“Do you think Freya’s made it to Merlin and Arthur yet?” 

“I hope so,” Morgana sighed, rubbing her temples as she tried to stave off sleep for as long as possible. She couldn’t take any more dreams. Night after night, visions plagued her, though she did there was nothing she could to to stop them. 

That was the curse of a seer, she supposed, she saw everything, knew everything, yet she was powerless to stop it from coming true. Powerless to stop her loved ones’ deaths. Her dreams had led to many sleepless nights in the past, when she couldn’t bear to watch more. 

“The king’s patrol’s could find us,” Gwen said, standing up despite the chains to look out of the small cell window. “He’s bound to know you’re gone by now.” 

Morgana grimaced at the mention of her guardian. “If I know Uther, and I do, he thinks you and Freya are rogue sorcerers that kidnapped me for your own twisted agenda.” She said it with as much enthusiasm as she talked about the marriage proposals she would receive at court. 

“He cares about you, though, my lady.” Gwen sat back down, looking at Morgana with kindness in her eyes. 

“Uther - _ ha! _” The voice came once again from the mysterious man, the one they could not see. There was so much contempt in his voice that his words could destroy and rebuild Camelot all on their own. “Uther Pendragon cares for nothing and no one.” 

_ Who gave him the right- _

Morgana was about to snap at the man, but he continued. 

“Let me tell you, _ my lady _, I’ve met the so-called King of Camelot. He is nothing more than a liar and a murderer. A common criminal with no regard for the lives he’s ruined.” 

Liar. 

Murderer. 

The words reverberated in Morgana’s head over and over until it was all she could think. She’d heard those words time and time again, always from the mouths of those who’d lost loved ones in the Great Purge. 

So this man was a sorcerer too. 

“Who did you lose?” The question was blunt, unprompted. For a second, Morgana actually doubted that it came from her own mouth. 

The man hesitated. “My kin. Brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, whole families wiped out for our gifts.” In that moment, he truly was defeated. “Children who had yet to know their talents, marked for being the next in a millennia-old bloodline.” 

Morgana looked down to her hands, still bound in chains. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault, my lady. Do not blame yourself for things you have no part in.” 

But it _ was _her fault. It was, because while she ran and hid her magic away, people were still dying for a gift that they couldn’t control any more than she could. She was Morgana Le Fey, ward to King Uther of Camelot. He thought of her as his own daughter, and yet she couldn’t be herself around him without risking execution. If anyone could convince Uther that magic wasn’t evil, she could. And yet she didn’t. 

Morgana was just about to speak again when she heard the horrible metallic sounds of hinges on a door. 

Urien, foul as he was, swept into the hallway yet again, this time accompanied by another man, this one dressed in finer clothes than him. She expected them to stop at her cell, but neither paid her or Gwen any attention. 

Instead, they went for the man. 

The cell’s lock opened stiffly, letting Urien and his mysterious companion inside. The slaver turned toward the other man, smiling with satisfaction. “I tol’ you it was ‘im, didn’ I?” 

The other man, however, paid him no mind. Instead, he crouched before the man in the cell. “Hello, my lord,” he said, a look of victorious malice on his face. “I trust you remember me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Thank you all for all the love you've shown to this fic here on AO3 and over on FF.net!
> 
> This chapter was took a really long time to write, mostly because it was part of a larger one that had to be cut into 2-3 parts (still not sure) so that I kept to my usual 3-4k words. 
> 
> As you probably know if you've read my most recent update to Egg of Aithusa, I may or may not be going on vacation soon, so this is probably going to be my last update before that. (I know. If I could bring my computer with me I would.) 
> 
> The chapter title is another Shakespeare one, so points to anyone who can guess where it's from *or* who the mysterious man in the cell is that Morgana's been talking to. 
> 
> -Mags


	14. Chapter 13 - Salad Days (Part 2)

_ Slavers.  _

It pained Arthur to even think the word. They were stains upon the prosperity of Camelot and of Albion, monsters who used their power to bargain with the lives of men. He could barely contain his rage as he thought about Guinevere and Morgana, locked in a cold cell, bound to the will of their captors. 

_ Guinevere…  _

Gods, he didn’t know anything when he was around that woman. At some point, his heart had decided that he would fall for the blacksmith’s daughter, the servant girl that was always ready with a greeting and a smile. Guinevere made his heart soar every time she was near, and now, with her in danger, Arthur didn’t know how much more his lovesick heart could take. 

“We must approach at night,” he concluded, staring down at a map of the White Mountains. He was surrounded on all signs by a number of knights who’d heard from their comrades about the alleged damsels in distress. 

(If Morgana ever caught wind that they were calling her a damsel, Arthur had no problem in thinking that she’d castrate them all herself.) 

“Forgive me, my lord, but we don’t even know where they are.” Sir Gareth was standing across from him, an urgent look in his eye. “We were sent here on a  _ mission _ , and we must see it through before we are able to do other things.” 

Arthur was beyond frustrated. He was furious. 

“Alright, then, Sir Gareth. How about you’re the one to tell the king that his ward was abducted and we chose to do nothing about it?” 

That shut him up. 

He looked up slightly, the intensity of his gaze challenging any other knight to speak against him. “If no one else has any reservations…” 

Someone cleared their throat. It was a small sound, as if they were standing at the back. Arthur looked up in full this time, a line of insults ready on his tongue that even the rowdiest of tavern-brawlers would disapprove of. 

Instead of another trembling, red-caped knight, though, it was Merlin. 

The silence that swept through the tent was deafening as Merlin stepped forward. Each knight knew what they had sworn themselves too only the night before, and it was out of a strange mixture of respect and pity that not one of them, Arthur saw, could meet his eyes. 

“What?” Merlin asked, thankfully oblivious. 

“Nothing,” Arthur muttered, giving a panicked glance to the knights so that they would, for lack of a better phrase,  _ snap out of it _ . “Did Freya say anything else?” 

Merlin’s cheeks reddened ever-so-slightly. Arthur should’ve figured it out sooner - the fool was in love. “No. Nothing else.” 

“Right.” Arthur looked back at the map. He pointed to where the White Mountains were drawn, tracing a finger over the etched markings as he spoke. “Judging by what Freya said earlier, the slavers’ garrison lies west of here, along the other side of the mountain range.” He moved his finger to just past the mountains, where Camelot ended and Essetir began. “It’s likely heavily guarded both day and night, so it’ll be a challenge to get inside.” 

Arthur realized that he was at a loss for what to say next. It didn’t feel right. A knot suddenly formed in the pits of his stomach, twisting and turning as it was fed by his anxiety. 

“Freya has told me the guards have a blindspot just before dawn, when the shifts change,” Merlin spoke up. Arthur silently thanked the gods for him.

_ Wait, no- _

“That will be our opportunity to get in and out, if we’re able to find Gwen and Morgana in time.” He nodded to Arthur, a message being sent in through his deep, blue eyes. 

Arthur immediately began to speak, though he wasn’t sure if it was the message that Merlin had intended. “We must be quick and efficient, lest we attract the attention of anyone else in the garrison, or even Urien himself. Does anyone have any questions?” 

No one said a word. 

“Good. We leave in half an hour’s time. Lanval, Pellias, you’ll stay here and guard the queen and Freya.” 

Merlin looked to two of his own. “Merek, Terryn, you’re to do the same.” 

Their orders were met with a chorus of mumbled thanks and half-meant words as the knights began to leave. They filtered out in pairs of ones and twos, some, like Sir Leon, giving Arthur pitiful looks as he was left alone with Merlin. 

Arthur turned back to the map, trying to study it as he did his best to keep his mind from what he had to do. Merlin was a constant reminder of what was needed, what Arthur felt he didn’t have the strength to do. They’d been friends for so long, and yet…

And yet Arthur felt like he was slipping away, dooming them even before he struck the dolorous stroke. 

“I know you’re worried for Gwen.” Merlin’s voice cut through his thoughts like they were nothing but smoke. “You… you love her. I can see it in the way you look at her. It’s like the rest of the world melts away. Like there’s no one else in the world but her.” 

He turned his head, then. Merlin’s words struck a chord. 

“I feel the same when I look at Freya. She’s become my world. I know I would do  _ anything  _ to get her back if it was her in some slaver’s dungeon and not Gwen, and I know you will do  _ anything  _ to get Gwen back. I- I just want you to know that, whatever happens, I’ll stand with you.” 

Arthur felt like he was about to cry. “Thank you.” 

* * *

“Is it hard to see them run into battle?” Freya regretted the question the moment it left her lips. The worry had been churning in her stomach since the moment it was announced Merlin was riding out to rescue Gwen and Morgana. There was the possibility that he would never return, that he would take his last breath all alone in some faraway castle and she would never see him again. 

“It is always hard to see them go,” Hunith replied. They were sitting in her tent, huddled under a blanket as Freya tried to clear her head. “Merlin’s father left many times when we were first married. First it was a diplomatic meeting in Caerleon, then a farmer’s rebellion in the east. Every time I had to say goodbye I feared it would be the last time I saw him. But I kept hope, for sometimes that is all we have.” 

Freya wanted to laugh. Hope was a children’s fantasy and a wive’s tale. She’d spent enough time in the world to know that. 

“Did it get any easier? All those times, with nothing but hope?” 

Hunith looked down at her, smiling in a way that reminded Freya of her own mother. “No, it didn’t. I felt the same way when we were forced to flee, hanging onto threads of hope as everything around me changed. But I had to keep a strong face for Merlin.” She welcomed her closer as Freya felt she was on the verge of tears. “And now he thinks he must keep a strong face for you.” 

“What?” 

“‘Tis true, my dear. Merlin thinks he must be strong for both of you, though he forgets that you are strong too.” 

They sat in silence after that, Freya pondering Hunith’s words as she grew tired and her eyelids became heavy. She’d forgotten what it felt like to have a mother, to have someone there who cared enough to help you through whatever was wrong. It was a wonder to her that Hunith was a stranger barely even a week before. 

Merlin hadn’t spoken on his life before Camelot much. Freya had assumed he’d grown up as some farm boy from the country, sent off to the big city to earn his fortune. There were many secrets between them in that time, and most of them weren’t hers. 

“Does Merlin often keep secrets from you?” 

Hunith hung her head slightly. “More than I would like to admit.” She moved away from Freya, giving her the rest of their shared blanket. “His father instilled it in him at a young age. He was such a special boy, Merlin was. We thought keeping what made him special a secret would protect him, but it only made him more afraid.

“Shortly after his birth, a High Priestess, one of the Nine, appeared at court unexpectedly. She said she came bearing an urgent message.” She pulled her cloak around herself - the wind was starting to pick up. “Elaine, that was her name, said that their seers on the Isle of the Blessed had all had the same vision the night Merlin was born - the Once and Future King, with Emrys at his side.” 

Emrys. Freya had heard that name only a handful of times before. The first was a fireside story in a druid camp. The next was Merlin’s admission to her that he was the legendary sorcerer of prophecy. 

“No one was to know that our infant prince was the great and powerful Emrys, for his own safety, of course.” Hunith’s eyes shone with a thousand memories, hopeful yet filled with sorrow as she thought of what she had lost. “Merlin grew up with the people of his kingdom, but no one could know who he truly was.” 

Freya empathized, strangely enough. She grew up with the druids, but no one could know of the beast that lay within. 

“We tried our best to keep his magic hidden from the court and the rest of the kingdom, for fear of what would happen if too many scheming lords or rebel-rousing peasants knew that Emrys was no more than a small child.” 

“I can’t imagine how hard it was, my lady.” 

Hunith stood, wiping what seemed to be a tear from her left eye. “Thank you, Freya.” She offered her a hand. Soon, both women were standing, huddled together for warmth in the late hours of the day. 

“I believe Merlin is hiding something from me now.” 

Freya didn’t know why she said it. The words came from her mind and out of her mouth just as she thought them. 

Hunith’s demeanor changed in that moment. No longer was she the doting, kind mother who had spent years dealing with the problems of children. Not entirely, at least. There was something more regal in the way she stood, a sense of pride and importance that Freya had only seen among the members of the court in Camelot. 

It took a moment for Hunith to speak again. “That is something I believe you must bring up with him, my dear.” 

Though the answer frustrated her, Freya could do nothing more than curtsy and leave. She had been infuriated when she realised Merlin had been keeping secrets the first time. Now, she didn’t know how much more she could take. 

Everyone had secrets, Freya had known that for a long time. Some secrets were small, others could destroy entire nations. 

And hers was perhaps the most monstrous of them all. 

* * *

Leon could see the worry in Arthur’s head by simply looking at him. He knew that it wasn’t his place to speak on it - a prince never spoke to his subjects on matters of the heart - but he unfortunately knew that a reckless Arthur was a dead Arthur. 

There was something else that had been bothering him, too. Leon had hoped to take it up with Arthur, but he’d gone with Merlin into the woods before he’d gotten the chance. 

Something about this whole plot didn’t seem right to Leon. It seemed like too much of a coincidence that so many of the knights had agreed with Sir Gareth, many of them befriending Merlin while he was in Camelot. Hell, Sir Gareth was the fourth son of some nobody baron, why was it that everyone was listening to him now? 

Arthur cursed as he dropped one of his gauntlets. The metal glove made an ugly  _ clang  _ as it hit the ground. He was just about to bend down and get it when Leon swiped it up from the floor, an unassuming smile on his face. 

“Here you are, my lord.” 

“Thank you, Leon,” Arthur said, though he seemed distant, his attention far away. He went back to putting on his armor, donning the previously-dropped gauntlet and strapping vambraces on his forearms. 

Another few moments passed in silence, the deafening madness kept back only by the sounds of armor; straps and buckles and fastenings had never seemed so loud. 

It was then, after nothing but the clips and clicks of metal that Leon knew he needed to speak. Soon there would be no going back, no matter what small bit of sentiment he still held in his heart. 

“Sire?” 

Arthur turned, hand on the pommel of his sword. He was dressed for battle, the lion of Camelot ready to bear its claws. 

“I fear that we may have gotten ourselves into a predicament, sire.” That was what he said, vague enough to foster interest but not so bland as to kill the conversation before it began. 

“And how have we done that, Sir Leon?” 

“This- this whole thing with Merlin - erm,  _ Prince  _ Merlin, rather - nothing about it seems right to me. There’s something here that we don’t understand yet. We can’t commit to killing him before we know all sides of the story.” 

He could see Arthur’s nostrils twitch as he exhaled, somewhere between a sigh and a nervous tick. There was a calm, boiling rage somewhere in there, too. This was not the same Arthur that had snapped at Gareth earlier, Leon knew enough about the prince’s moods to wager that. 

“Leon,” he began, his tone was steady, but there was something that he held back, the reason that he wasn’t a crying, emotional mess. “Have I not already told you to drop this?”

“No, sire.” He really hadn’t. 

“Well, then.” Arthur was probably a few seconds away from throwing something.  _ “Drop it.”  _

Leon opened his mouth in protest, but thought better of it. He was talking to a man who could have him killed with a single sentence. He was in no place to argue. 

“No, my lord, I won’t.” 

The words came out of him before he had the chance to stop them. Did he have some sort of death wish? 

Leon did his best to look defiant in that moment, squaring his shoulders and widening his stance ever-so-slightly. He was a child of nobility, a warrior from a long line of knights that served their kings and princes just as he served Uther and Arthur. He wouldn’t let a poor decision ruin them all. 

“What did you just say?” The words were thick with venom. Leon couldn’t remember a time when he’d heard Arthur that mad before. 

“I won’t drop it, my lord.” 

“And why is that, Sir Leon?” 

_ Because it’s not right,  _ his mind screamed, though his mouth stayed closed, searching for better words. “Because I believe that what we’re doing isn’t right.” 

“Because you believe it isn’t right?” Arthur echoed. “By all means, Sir Leon, you have my blessing to take your horse and return to Camelot, telling the whole court and my father of your cowardice and inability to follow orders.” He threw his arms up in exasperation. “That, or you can do as you’re told.” 

Somewhere inside, there was the instinct to just hang his head and say  _ Yes, Sire,  _ but Leon knew he couldn’t do that now. Too much had happened for him to stand back and stay compliant. He could die for this, yes, but he could also save the life of a friend. 

“Well?” Arthur questioned. All of his pent-up anger was boiling over. “Say something!  _ Anything!” _

“I stand by my words and actions. If it means saving a life rather tha-” 

“Oh? Is that what this is about, then?  _ Chivalry?  _ Some sort of noble standard that you’re holding yourself to?” 

_ “This  _ is about preventing a war!” 

Arthur looked at him, head tilted slightly and eyes wide open. Perhaps he was contemplating whether or not to run Leon through with his sword. 

“You’re lucky I don’t send you back to the king.” 

Leon looked down at his feet, heat rising in his cheeks. “Yes, my lord.” 

“Get out of my sight.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

* * *

The sword still felt odd hanging from Merlin’s belt. There was something unnatural about the feeling, the weight dragging him down instead of protecting him, as his magic did. 

Perhaps he was simply meant to be a sorcerer, wielding great power instead of a great weapon, able to change day to night and part the seas with nothing more than a single word. He’d heard stories, during his youth, of different deeds performed by great magicians and sorcerers all across the world. His favorite was of the sun’s journey below the earth every night, and how witches protected it from all sorts of threats so it would rise again in the morning over the Land of the North-Flowing River. Merlin one day hoped to be powerful enough to do something like that. 

_ Power? Is that what you’re after?  _ His father’s words seemed so much farther away now. A distant memory of a song, the melody twisted after years of going unsung.  _ A true sorcerer knows that power is what needs to be feared, for it comes with both greed and corruption at its heels.  _

“Merlin?” 

Freya’s voice was like a gift to his ears. Never too soft, never too loud. Like the rest of her, perfect. 

He turned, seeing her standing in the opening of his tent. Her hair was smoother, braided into a plait along the back of her neck. She wore a woolen cloak over her dress - which had been torn during her flight from the slavers - likely a gift from Hunith, who had taken a liking to Freya since they’d met in Camelot. 

“I- I didn’t see you.” Merlin could feel himself blushing. 

Freya stepped towards him, a small smile on her face. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What’re you doing here?” 

“I came to see you off.” 

She was incredibly close now, near enough to touch. Merlin gently put his hand on her arm, praying she wouldn’t leave. “Oh?” 

“Mm-hm.” Freya seemed to lean into him as well, burrowing her face into the side of his neck. 

Merlin pressed a small kiss to the top of her head. 

They stood there for a moment, safe within each other’s arms. Merlin wished he could have stayed in that moment forever, safe from harm and in the embrace of his beloved. He felt the cold pressure of metal against his chest, where he knew his signet ring to be; once a reminder of the past, now a promise of the future. 

Freya pulled back, her deep brown eyes looking straight into Merlin’s.  _ “Becum hámsíþ mé,”  _ she whispered in the language of the Old Religion.  _ Come home to me.  _

** ** He chuckled slightly. “When do I not?” 

“I’m serious, Merlin.” 

Merlin smiled crookedly, tilting his head slightly in a way he knew infuriated her. Freya scowled, nose scrunching up in a way that looked more cute than mad to him. 

He took that opportunity to kiss her again, slower and sweeter than before. It was sorrowful as well, a parting kiss meant to be end-all; the final goodbye before a faraway fate. She could sense it too, pulling back once more with a harsher look on her face. 

Merlin pressed his forehead against her own, closing his eyes as he made his vow. 

_ “Gange eftcyrran unc,  _ Freya _ . Behāte.”  _

_ I will return to you, Freya. I promise.  _

His words hung in the air, the magic inside him changing them from simple words to those of power. This was a powerful promise, the kind that changed a man forever. 

“Sire!” 

Sir Cassius’ voice broke their shared illusion, the feeling that they were alone together in the world. The reality of their situation came upon Merlin like a breaking dam, and just like that, he stepped away. 

“I have to go.” 

“I know.” 

The sun was low in the sky as he stepped out of the tent. Their camp was bursting with activity as knights packed their bags and saddled their horses. Sir Cassius was waiting for him, hand on his own sword as if guarding his tent. 

“Are we ready?” Merlin asked him. 

Cassius nodded. “As we’ll ever be.” 

The next few moments were a blur, mounting Barley and setting off through the mountains. Merlin made an effort to connect his thoughts with Freya’s for as long as possible, though they were soon too far away. 

He sent one last message with his mind before the effort became too much. 

_ I love you,  _ he thought. 

A moment, then,  _ I love you too.  _

* * *

“They’ve been through here.” 

“How do you know that?” 

The two riders were crouched over a number of horse tracks, a ghastly ball of light floating over them. Though the sun had since set hours before, they could see the marks in the dirt perfectly, the desired effect of the ball’s light. 

“They’re heading west,” Tòmas said, standing up. “We need to be there before they do.” 

“And what’re we gonna do when we get there? Wait for a whole party of knights to kill us?” 

“Yrian-” 

“No. You’re thinking too irrationally.” Yrian mounted his horse, calling the ball of light back to him. “Thinking like that will get us killed.” The “or worse,” hung on at the end, unsaid. 

“What do  _ you  _ want to do, then? Walk up to him and say ‘Excuse me, Your Highness, do you happen to know where your father is so we can kill him?’”

“Shut up and let me think.” 

Tòmas mounted his own steed as his companion sat in silence. They continued on through the mountains, following the tracks the prince had left hours before. Not much time had passed before they could see something over the next hill: a castle, overlooking a snowy plain. 

“There,” said Yrian, voice deep and raspy in the night. “There is where we make our move.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly no Morgana today (we'll see a lot more of her in the future ;D). 
> 
> I saw a tumblr post about how Leon is probably another one of Uther's bastards, and it really stuck with me while I was writing Leon's POV. (He's not Uther's bastard in this story, btw. I just thought it was a fun headcanon.) 
> 
> To get real for a second, though: school is starting up again in a week, so my upload schedule's gonna be pretty inconsistent for a while, if I actually manage to write anything at all. So, you've been warned. 
> 
> Have fun, wear a mask, and be a nice human being! 
> 
> -Mags

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked the very short prologue! The next few chapters will be up as soon as I can get around to posting, but with all of the back-to-school stuff going on I don't know when I'll be able to deliver. 
> 
> \- Mags


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